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Authors: Taylin Clavelli
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answers didn’t come to the fore. He agreed with Carl. The people with the key to the mystery had to be at the manor. Therefore, with no one available by phone, he concluded a letter was best.
Relaxed by the fire, Warren composed his request to the lord of the manor. He decided to write it by hand, in ink, to make it more personal. Several attempts later he was happy with the result.
Dear Lord Walmsley
I write with a respectful request for an audience with you.
Recently, I had a rather adventurous night ride on my horse, Argo. My intention was to ride to a high spot to witness the night sky without the distortion of lights. However, we ended up in the midst of something completely different—an event I will only speak of, and present evidence of, face to face. The hill I refer to was on the edge of your lands.
I hope you are able to shed some light on my experience, as I have the feeling it will not be my last encounter with the unusual.
Please. My contact details are overleaf.
Kind regards
Warren Blake
Warren posted the letter first class from Cheltenham during his short walk from the station to the office. The stroll between the two allowed his limbs to loosen sufficiently not to attract attention from A-Genet staff.
When he arrived for his usual Monday meeting with the directors, part of the agenda was the subject of his tenure. The years were moving along fast, so the topic was no surprise to Warren. He knew there’d be a review at some point. During his brief career at A-Genet, there’d been no financial or personal scandals. Everything had balanced and the contractors were happy. Therefore, the directors were content to comply with their original offer of retirement with a seat on the board and to abide by whatever his decision was. They gave him a month to inform them of his intentions.
By the time the meeting was adjourned a good two hours had passed. Warren rose stiffly from his seat, and one of the directors asked if he was okay. He replied, “Overdid the exercise.” The accompanying grimace had the others laughing and patting him on the back in sympathy, and Warren returned to his office unhindered.
What with his acquisition of Argo and the subsequent changes to his routine, outside the office Warren hadn’t thought much about work. He was satisfied with his accomplishments, though, and was happy to continue to be connected with the company. If he stayed beyond the five years, his contract would only be extended for another two. Either way he would still receive an income, but he questioned whether he could cope with the transition from a lifetime of work to one of horses and windsurfing.
He could understand the directors requiring early notice of his plans, as the search for a successor would not be restricted to the UK. There were lists to compile, initial interviews to conduct, background checks and security clearances to complete, all before shortlists and in-depth interviews.
For the rest of the week Warren holed up in his office, thinking over long-term plans with A-Genet while dealing with day-to-day details. But always lurking in the background was the joust, the young man, and the absurdity of the whole thing. How in heaven’s name could a man at the pinnacle of his career end up in the middle of an ancient arena? It was the stuff of late-night campfires, plenty of alcohol, and exaggerated ghost stories. As the hours and days passed, the only things Warren was sure about were the aches in his bones and the bruised lines on his hips where the edges of his armour seemed to have ended. He was slowly convincing himself that he’d fallen on something else that created the marks... though he didn’t know what. All the same, he received nightly calls from Carl checking up on him.
Friday arrived with no word from the manor. Frustrated and confused, Warren contacted the office in charge of the Worcester lake and booked some windsurfing time. He would have gone to the coast again, but he
Relaxed by the fire, Warren composed his request to the lord of the manor. He decided to write it by hand, in ink, to make it more personal. Several attempts later he was happy with the result.
Dear Lord Walmsley
I write with a respectful request for an audience with you.
Recently, I had a rather adventurous night ride on my horse, Argo. My intention was to ride to a high spot to witness the night sky without the distortion of lights. However, we ended up in the midst of something completely different—an event I will only speak of, and present evidence of, face to face. The hill I refer to was on the edge of your lands.
I hope you are able to shed some light on my experience, as I have the feeling it will not be my last encounter with the unusual.
Please. My contact details are overleaf.
Kind regards
Warren Blake
Warren posted the letter first class from Cheltenham during his short walk from the station to the office. The stroll between the two allowed his limbs to loosen sufficiently not to attract attention from A-Genet staff.
When he arrived for his usual Monday meeting with the directors, part of the agenda was the subject of his tenure. The years were moving along fast, so the topic was no surprise to Warren. He knew there’d be a review at some point. During his brief career at A-Genet, there’d been no financial or personal scandals. Everything had balanced and the contractors were happy. Therefore, the directors were content to comply with their original offer of retirement with a seat on the board and to abide by whatever his decision was. They gave him a month to inform them of his intentions.
By the time the meeting was adjourned a good two hours had passed. Warren rose stiffly from his seat, and one of the directors asked if he was okay. He replied, “Overdid the exercise.” The accompanying grimace had the others laughing and patting him on the back in sympathy, and Warren returned to his office unhindered.
What with his acquisition of Argo and the subsequent changes to his routine, outside the office Warren hadn’t thought much about work. He was satisfied with his accomplishments, though, and was happy to continue to be connected with the company. If he stayed beyond the five years, his contract would only be extended for another two. Either way he would still receive an income, but he questioned whether he could cope with the transition from a lifetime of work to one of horses and windsurfing.
He could understand the directors requiring early notice of his plans, as the search for a successor would not be restricted to the UK. There were lists to compile, initial interviews to conduct, background checks and security clearances to complete, all before shortlists and in-depth interviews.
For the rest of the week Warren holed up in his office, thinking over long-term plans with A-Genet while dealing with day-to-day details. But always lurking in the background was the joust, the young man, and the absurdity of the whole thing. How in heaven’s name could a man at the pinnacle of his career end up in the middle of an ancient arena? It was the stuff of late-night campfires, plenty of alcohol, and exaggerated ghost stories. As the hours and days passed, the only things Warren was sure about were the aches in his bones and the bruised lines on his hips where the edges of his armour seemed to have ended. He was slowly convincing himself that he’d fallen on something else that created the marks... though he didn’t know what. All the same, he received nightly calls from Carl checking up on him.
Friday arrived with no word from the manor. Frustrated and confused, Warren contacted the office in charge of the Worcester lake and booked some windsurfing time. He would have gone to the coast again, but he
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