by Andy Coffey
Chapter 4 – That explains everything…
As Aiden continued to drive, the lane eventually widened and the surface became more conventional. Feeling slightly more relaxed, he tried to assess his recent experiences logically.
Maybe he was still groggy after falling asleep and had accidentally missed his original turning? That made perfect sense. The dragon was probably part of some air display, a customised aircraft of some description. And as for the telepathic cat with the eye patch? Well, the trauma of thinking he’d hit the poor creature must have been playing on his mind, and his overactive imagination must have kicked in. Up ahead he saw a sign that said ‘Welcome to Llangollen’.
The place was as picturesque as he remembered, but it seemed unusually quiet. There were no other cars on the roads, although the occasional horse and cart could be seen, which he thought was quaint. As he drove down the main street towards the bridge that crossed the River Dee, he passed the rows of pretty little shops displaying their wares. It was like a throwback to the days before supermarkets and multi-national stores dominated the high streets of most towns. Simpler times, he thought.
For all his love of modern technology, he was invariably happy in places where time had not moved on as much as it could have. He was attracted to historical documentaries and secretly longed to own a broadsword. As a child, and to this day if truth be told, his favourite films involved ancient soldiers, monsters, mysterious creatures, magic and, importantly, scantily clad ladies. Basically, anything that allowed him to escape to a world that was more exciting and with a greater sense of nobility at its heart.
He turned left just before the bridge and parked his car, stepping out and breathing deep from the clean air. On the other side of the road was a lady with two small sheep dressed in children’s clothing. They had pirate hats on their heads and were waving little plastic swords.
‘Come on children, we don’t want to be late,’ the lady said to the sheep, looking over and smiling at Aiden.
‘Great costumes,’ Aiden said. ‘Very unusual.’
‘Thanks! They love dressing-up, and they’ve been excited about the festival for the past week. I had no trouble getting them out of the barn this morning,’ the lady said, laughing.
‘Well, I hope they have a good time,’ Aiden replied.
‘We will! Goodbye, sir,’ one of the sheep said. And off they walked towards the park by the river.
At the end of the bridge, Aiden spotted a charming old pub. He remembered he’d been there once before and had found it to be a particularly friendly place, filled with a potpourri of slightly eccentric locals, unusually normal locals and a smattering of tourists. He couldn’t remember the pub’s name, but as he got closer the letters on the sign outside came into focus. They read ‘The Sheep’s Stirrup’, and in smaller letters underneath, ‘Proprietor: M Fluffywool’.
He turned the handle of the weatherworn, oak door and was met by the musty aroma of beer. The sun was streaming through a far window, creating an atmospheric haze above the rustic, wooden tables and chairs dotted about the room. On the whole it looked pretty much as he remembered… apart from the short man standing behind the bar in a sheep costume.
‘Good afternoon, sir. It is a pleasant day, is it not?’ the man in the sheep costume said.
‘Hi, yes, a lovely day,’ Aiden replied. ‘Is there some kind of festival going in the town?’
‘Indeed there is, did you not see the signs on the way in?’
‘No, it looks like I came via an alternative route today,’ Aiden replied, honestly.
‘Oh, it’s the “Grand Carnival of Shearing and Hoof Waxing”, so most folks are in the park. There’s a fair and all kinds of stalls and amusements. It’s the most important sheep-sponsored event of the year; you should have a look later.’
‘I will,’ Aiden said.
‘By the way, the name’s Maurice, Maurice Fluffywool,’ the man in the sheep costume said, extending a hoof over the bar. ‘I’m the landlord of this fine establishment.’
‘Aiden Peersey,’ Aiden replied, shaking Maurice’s hoof. That explains the costumes, he thought.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ Maurice said.
‘Yes, thanks, just a half of lager please,’ Aiden replied, putting his hand in his pocket to take out some money.
‘No, no, put your money away. The first one’s on the house.’
‘Thanks. That’s very kind of you.’
‘Think nothing of it; it’s a courtesy I like to extend to new customers. Mind you, the place will be full tonight, so I’ll turn in a tidy profit.’
Maurice pulled on one of the brass pump handles behind the bar and waited until the frothy, amber liquid filled the glass. Then he picked it up with both hooves and placed it on a fresh beer mat on the bar.
‘So, whereabouts do you hail from, Aiden?’
‘Not too far away, Wrexham,’ Aiden said, taking a sip from the glass.
‘Ah, my good friend, Bill Plumprump runs one of the most popular pubs in Wrexham, “The Flopsy Fleece”. You must know it?’
‘Can’t say I do, actually,’ Aiden answered.
‘Oh, well, that is a surprise. What about “The Lamb and Saddle”?’
‘Er, no.’
‘“The Frisky Flock”?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘“The Black-faced Ram”?’
‘Not come across it.’
‘“The Frolicking Ewe”?’
‘Nope.’
‘Well surely you must know the “Mutton Dressed as Lamb” nightclub, it’s the hottest club in the area?’
‘Sorry, never seen it.’
‘Are you sure you’re from Wrexham?’ Maurice quizzed, with a look of suspicion.
‘Not as sure as I was about five minutes ago,’ Aiden said.
As he looked more intently at Maurice, the sun of understanding seemed to rise in his mind, its glorious rays firing little beams of comprehension in all directions. ‘You’re a sheep!’ he exclaimed, his eyebrows doing their utmost to make contact with his hairline.
‘Well, you may not be sure where you’re from, young man, but there’s nothing wrong with your eyesight, I see,’ Maurice replied.
‘Sorry, it’s just that I’m from the real outskirts of Wrexham and we don’t get many sheep running pubs in that area,’ Aiden said, thinking on his feet.
‘Ah, still a bit sheepist there, are they? Well we’re a lot more liberal here, if you don’t mind, we’ve fully embraced the Ovine Equality Act of 1952.’
‘Oh, so around here sheep have been running pubs since 1952?’ Aiden said casually, as he leant on the bar.
‘No, no, don’t be daft,’ Maurice replied. ‘A lot of us started out as glass collectors and worked our way up’.
Aiden swiftly finished his drink and put the empty glass on the bar. ‘Well, thanks very much for the conversation and the drink,’ he said, moving slowly to the door, ‘but I think I’ll go for a little walk now, while it’s so nice outside. One last question, though, well two questions really. Am I actually in Llangollen and what year is this, please?’
‘My lad, are you sure you’ve not been on the old Cheshire Black or something. Yes, this is Llangollen, and it’s 1987 of course’.
Was he hallucinating? Was he dreaming again? Had he wandered into some bizarre genetic experiment? Was it an invasion of alien sheep landlords? Or was he simply cracking up? Two sheep on the opposite side of the road, carrying balloons, shouted ‘hello’ and waved. Aiden slowly raised his hand and politely waved back.
‘It’s a lovely day for it, isn’t it?’ said one of the sheep.
‘Yes, it is indeed,’ replied Aiden, still waving. And then his phone rang.
The ringtone blared out ‘What’s New Pussycat’ and the name on the screen said ‘Tom’. Aiden didn’t know anyone called ‘Tom’… and he hadn’t actually programmed any numbers into the phone. ‘Hello,’ he said, clicking the ‘Receive Call’ button and tentatively putting the phone to his
ear.
‘Oh, hi, I thought I’d better give you a quick call as you’re probably a bit disorientated right now. And you’d probably like an explanation of what’s going down, so to speak,’ a voice in a comforting Welsh brogue said.
‘Yes, thank you, that would be great,’ Aiden said, as he watched the sheep with balloons skipping down the road. ‘And you are?’
‘Well, I’m Tom. I think you’ll find it said that on the phone.’
‘And have we met before? I don’t recall programming your number into my phone?’
‘Well, we’ve never actually spoken, as such. But I’ve sort of been keeping an eye on you for all of your life.’
‘Well, “Tom”, I’m not sure how you got hold of this number, but I’m having a pretty strange day here. I’ve had a dream where I’m being attacked by traffic wardens carrying Kalashnikovs, I’ve been strafed by what appeared to be a large red dragon, I’ve been insulted telepathically by a cat, and to top it all I’ve been served rather good lager by a talking sheep. So, “Tom”, I’d appreciate it if you’d just bugger off and leave me alone.’
‘Look, now, there’s no reason to be like that, is there,’ said Tom. ‘Would you like me to shed some light on the events of the day?’
Aiden removed the phone from his ear and took a sharp intake of breath. He looked at the phone’s screen and realised there was no network coverage. So how was he receiving this call? His natural curiosity knocked on the door of his conscious mind… so he let it in and offered it a biscuit.
‘Very well, “Tom”. If you have any information as to what is causing my apparent mental implosion will you please let me know, because it’s reaching the point where I’d just like to go and sit under a tree for a while.’
‘Well, okay,’ Tom said. ‘I’m actually your higher self, or your intuition, if you like. Normally, I can only communicate with you via thoughts or feelings, helping you on your way, so to speak. But, since you’ve managed to cross a dimensional barrier and have now physically manifested in an alternative reality, I can speak to you on the phone now. How cool is that?!’
Aiden took the phone away from his ear again and looked at it for a few seconds. He went to press the ‘End Call’ button and hesitated. Then he slowly put the phone back against his ear. ‘Ah, yes, that explains everything, thank you.’