straight away if I have any unusual symptoms, because of the head,” rapping his knuckles against the top of his scalp as he said it.
“What kind of symptoms?”
“Dunno really, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Have you had anything?”
“Dunno.”
“Don’t know? So that’s a yes then?”
“No. I’ve just had a couple of nightmares, that’s all.” Iain didn’t mention the voices, and had no intention of mentioning them either.
“What kind of nightmares?”
“Just…, normal ones. I don’t think dreams count as unusual symptoms.” He didn’t want to mention the vividness of his dreams, the lucidity and the feelings of utter terror they spawned within him. He didn’t want to be reminded of them either and had already spoken more than enough on such matters. Changing the subject, “I love this tune!”
They sat in silence; each in their own haze, for the entirety of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.
“I know what you need,” Dave said after the song had finished, breaking the silence.
“What’s that?”
“A trip to Stow.”
“When?” Gary and Iain chorused in unison.
“As soon as possible. I can’t do this weekend.”
“What about the one after?” Gary said, turning to Iain.
“Anytime’s good for me. Got nothing planned at the mo.”
“That’s settled then,” started Dave, “weekend after next, we go to Stow.”
The three friends tried to get away once or twice a year, to escape the city and take a short break in the countryside. Usually they’d do pretty much what they did at home, but they’d smoke a bit more and drink a bit more and generally enjoy being outdoors with some peace and quiet. Invariably, they would end up at Stow-on-the –Wold, a charming small town in the Cotswolds. As well as being quiet and beautiful, the town also contains within it a youth hostel so they didn’t need to spend too much money and always had a warm bed for the night. They had a saying; ‘the sun always shines in Stow,’ owing to the fact that on each visit they’d had, none of them could remember the weather being anything but glorious, no matter what the month.
With that settled and something to look forward to, Iain felt much more at ease. The three young men carried on their session for the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, laughing, joking and listening to the radio, the conversation becoming more and more random as the evening progressed until eventually Gary fell asleep in the armchair. Dave managed to stay awake for a further half an hour until he too, succumbed to sleep.
Iain didn’t want to sleep, not yet. Fetching another can he sat as his friends snored quietly, locked away in their dreamless sleeps. The nightmare of earlier in the day still played on his mind; he could vividly remember the feelings of fear and he shuddered. There was something else; two words which made him freeze, those two words which kept on being spoken; ‘join us.’ What did they mean? He didn’t know. Was there really someone, or something out there who wanted him to join them? Or was it, as he suspected and definitely the most logical answer, a figment of his damaged mind?
Elvis was on the radio now, singing Jailhouse Rock. The reception had deteriorated further still until the song sounded as if it came from a wireless of the Rock and Roll era. Within a minute, the music was inaudible, replaced by the harsh sound of static.
Begrudgingly, Iain struggled from the chair in which he was sunk deep, and onto his feet. Turning the knob slowly, trying to retune to a clearer reception, there was nothing other than white noise. He played with the aerial for a while; still nothing. Returning to the dial he tried again, even more slowly. The sound of a baby crying came faintly through the noise, ebbing in and out of his perception.
Thinking he must be picking up a neighbours baby monitor, he turned the knob more quickly; a screaming child not being conducive to his relaxation. The
“What kind of symptoms?”
“Dunno really, anything out of the ordinary.”
“Have you had anything?”
“Dunno.”
“Don’t know? So that’s a yes then?”
“No. I’ve just had a couple of nightmares, that’s all.” Iain didn’t mention the voices, and had no intention of mentioning them either.
“What kind of nightmares?”
“Just…, normal ones. I don’t think dreams count as unusual symptoms.” He didn’t want to mention the vividness of his dreams, the lucidity and the feelings of utter terror they spawned within him. He didn’t want to be reminded of them either and had already spoken more than enough on such matters. Changing the subject, “I love this tune!”
They sat in silence; each in their own haze, for the entirety of Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb.
“I know what you need,” Dave said after the song had finished, breaking the silence.
“What’s that?”
“A trip to Stow.”
“When?” Gary and Iain chorused in unison.
“As soon as possible. I can’t do this weekend.”
“What about the one after?” Gary said, turning to Iain.
“Anytime’s good for me. Got nothing planned at the mo.”
“That’s settled then,” started Dave, “weekend after next, we go to Stow.”
The three friends tried to get away once or twice a year, to escape the city and take a short break in the countryside. Usually they’d do pretty much what they did at home, but they’d smoke a bit more and drink a bit more and generally enjoy being outdoors with some peace and quiet. Invariably, they would end up at Stow-on-the –Wold, a charming small town in the Cotswolds. As well as being quiet and beautiful, the town also contains within it a youth hostel so they didn’t need to spend too much money and always had a warm bed for the night. They had a saying; ‘the sun always shines in Stow,’ owing to the fact that on each visit they’d had, none of them could remember the weather being anything but glorious, no matter what the month.
With that settled and something to look forward to, Iain felt much more at ease. The three young men carried on their session for the rest of the afternoon and well into the night, laughing, joking and listening to the radio, the conversation becoming more and more random as the evening progressed until eventually Gary fell asleep in the armchair. Dave managed to stay awake for a further half an hour until he too, succumbed to sleep.
Iain didn’t want to sleep, not yet. Fetching another can he sat as his friends snored quietly, locked away in their dreamless sleeps. The nightmare of earlier in the day still played on his mind; he could vividly remember the feelings of fear and he shuddered. There was something else; two words which made him freeze, those two words which kept on being spoken; ‘join us.’ What did they mean? He didn’t know. Was there really someone, or something out there who wanted him to join them? Or was it, as he suspected and definitely the most logical answer, a figment of his damaged mind?
Elvis was on the radio now, singing Jailhouse Rock. The reception had deteriorated further still until the song sounded as if it came from a wireless of the Rock and Roll era. Within a minute, the music was inaudible, replaced by the harsh sound of static.
Begrudgingly, Iain struggled from the chair in which he was sunk deep, and onto his feet. Turning the knob slowly, trying to retune to a clearer reception, there was nothing other than white noise. He played with the aerial for a while; still nothing. Returning to the dial he tried again, even more slowly. The sound of a baby crying came faintly through the noise, ebbing in and out of his perception.
Thinking he must be picking up a neighbours baby monitor, he turned the knob more quickly; a screaming child not being conducive to his relaxation. The
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