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FULL FATHOM FIVE - CHAPTER 13

By Sarah Hapgood


Mr Beresford finally contacted me on the Monday morning (after having left me in a cold sweat for much of the weekend), and pronounced himself to be very satisfied with Andrea’s portrait.

“You seem to have brought our her vulnerable side”, he said.

“How the hell did I do that?” I said “I didn’t know she had one!”

“Well perhaps you did it unconsciously”, he said “But you’ve put a soft vulnerability into her face. Makes her look a lot more human if you ask me”.

(Interesting choice of words).

“Let’s hope she’s satisfied with it too”, I said.

“I’m sure she will be”, he replied “I suspect a little cheque will be winging its way to you shortly”.

It couldn’t wing its way fast enough in my opinion. But one thing I’ve learnt in life is to never count your chickens before they’re hatched, and I wouldn’t be truly satisfied until I could check my bank balance at the cash point and find that it had got through the system.

Jason meanwhile seemed to have his own plans for my hard-earned money, in spite of my endless assertions that it had been earmarked for a new washing-machine. And what was worse, Misty was siding with him.

“You want to hand-wash all Winter?” I said.

“We could get a spin-dryer for £60”, he said “That would be fun. I’ve been reading all the customer reviews on the Web and everybody raves about them”.

“That’d give you some left over to come and join me on the next ghost-vigil at the pub“, said Jason.

“As I’ve said before, I am not giving any of my loot to that bunch of jerks!” I said “That place fills me with horror just driving past it sometimes, let alone staying in it!”

“But Xanthe won’t come again with just me”, said Jason.

“Why?” I asked “What did you do to her last time?!”

“Nothing, she wants safety in numbers this time that’s all”, he said “Says two of us aren’t enough to take on the forces of darkness”.

Well I suppose he might have a point there (!), but I was as certain as ever that wild horses couldn’t drag me into the place. I didn’t want to disappoint an old friend though, so I rashly promised instead that I would come on an UFO sky watch he was trying to organise up at Chantley Stones. It would be hellishly uncomfortable, I was pretty sure of that, but at least I wouldn’t be paying £70 for the privilege!


The sky watch at Chantley Stones took place on a suitably cold, wet and windy evening. The fact that it was now supposed to be July of course made no impression on the British weather. There was so much thick cloud in the sky that I very much doubted we would see anything, but it was the only night Jason could secure it with the managers of the site. They had to make sure one of themselves was there just in case we decided to have wild Satanic orgies or some such nonsense.

I was quite surprised to find Shirley Brown there, although Jason told me afterwards that Chantley Stones was quite a favourite spot of hers, and I suppose it was the place where we had first seen her. She was more subdued than I remembered her, although still inclined to give the impression that she didn’t approve of anyone (other than herself) speaking at any time. This was unfortunate as there was another woman in the group, who had Compulsive Attention-Seeker written all over her.

I can’t say I warmed to this person either, and I did wonder what the hell she was doing there, as she didn’t seem to have any interest in UFOs. I came to the conclusion that she’s the sort of person who joins a group if there’s the slightest chance of any free booze or sex in the offing. All a bit sad really. Hazel Clare (her name) was about 40, and looked like a decaying hamster. What was worse, a 40-year-old decaying hamster trying to be sexy. She paraded around in a skimpy, strappy top. The rest of us were sensibly done up in jumpers and jackets. She made me feel bloody frozen just to look at her.

The rest of us tried to warm ourselves up by cooking sausages over a camp-fire, and squelched through mud in our wellies. In these dismal conditions it would have been hard for even the most devoted Ufologist to keep his enthusiasm going.

Misty and me managed to stick it out until about 1 o’clock in the morning. In the end it wasn’t the gulag-type conditions that defeated me but Hazel bloody Clare. She seemed to have got some more booze from somewhere, and at one point, whilst I was having a quiet chat with Jason, she sat down in front of us and rammed a photograph of some kid practically up my nostrils. I assume it was a child of hers, but quite what I was supposed to say to suddenly having his picture silently rammed in my face I don’t know.

I resorted to “very nice, dear”.

She spent the rest of the time looking moody and bewildered, but at least at some point in the festivities she did at least finally put a jacket on.

“Just what we need”, I said to Misty on the way home “Another bloody Tara Mitchell!”

“I think she felt you weren’t taking enough notice of her”, he said.

“Exactly”, I said “Another bloody Tara Mitchell!”

It was very dark and very silent when we got back to ’Barnacles’ in the middle of the night. After we had finished parking the van though we heard somebody’s footsteps in the lane, amplified considerably at that time of night. It might have been only a fisherman going home, but we didn’t hang around outside long enough to make sure.


The next day Jason told me that the sky watch had been a great success. Even making allowances for Jason’s usual reckless optimism I failed to see how he had arrived at this conclusion. As far as I was concerned it had been one of the dreariest evenings of my entire adult life (excluding any that I had spent at Henry and Jeannette Temple’s house), and it had taken me ages to defrost myself afterwards. But I didn’t have time to argue about this, as our vacuum cleaner had become the latest domestic appliance to turn traitor on us and break down, and we were going to Argos to pick up a manual carpet-sweeper for a tenner.

Whilst there I got accosted by some old git who took exception to a piece I had written for the local website (nearly 2 freaking years ago!!!), about how we were let down by the local council over the sand-bags supply during the floods of 2007. I felt like I was hearing some ancient radio broadcast beamed back at me from outer space.

“I CHOOSE to live by the seaside“, he said “So I take the consequences of that”.

I didn’t reply to him, as I had made a New Year’s resolution months ago to take Mark Twain’s sound advice: Never Argue With A Fool. It’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever come across. It certainly worked this time too, as when he saw he was getting no response out of me whatsoever, his face assumed a blank, nonplussed expression. He eventually sidled off, and the last I saw of him was when he had latched onto another victim in the shop doorway, and was telling her (no doubt with many imaginative embellishments) what he had said to me. All this accompanied by much finger-pointing in my direction.


Shirley Brown wrote an account of the sky watch for a paranormal website that collects people’s true life experiences with The Unexplained, and Jason asked me if I’d like a copy forwarded to me.

“But nothing happened”, I said “So what’s there to write about?”

“Shirl obviously sees it differently”, said Jason.

In the end I agreed to read it out of sheer nosiness. It won’t reprint the whole of it as it’s quite long. I’ll just give you the main bits. Here’s Shirley’s piece:

“I LIVE IN A SMALL TOWN ON THE SOUTH COAST OF ENGLAND, HAVING RELOCATED FROM THE STATES EARLIER THIS YEAR. MANY UNEXPLAINED EVENTS HAVE HAPPENED IN THIS AREA, AND IT IS RICH WITH TALES OF GHOSTS, WITCHCRAFT, STRANGE ANIMALS AND UFOs. THE OLDER GENERATION ACCEPT IT AS PART AND PARCEL OF EVERYDAY LIFE. NOT SO WITH THE YOUNGER ONES WHO DON’T TEND TO WANT TO KNOW”.

(I personally have never noticed any particular generational divide when it comes to belief in supernatural phenomena around here, but let it go. She then goes on to talk about Chantley Stones, and particularly the hill they stand upon).

“THIS HILL HAS LONG HAD A REPUTATION FOR PARANORMAL EVENTS AND DARK DEEDS. SO MUCH SO THAT IT IS UNOFFICIALLY KNOWN IN THE AREA AS THE WITCH HILL”.

(Now I have NEVER in all the years I have lived here, ever heard it referred to, officially or unofficially, as The Witch Hill. To the natives it’s either “Chantley” or simply “The Stones”. I strongly suspect somebody’s been pulling our Shirl’s plonker. She then goes on to write a lot about the setting-up of the camp for the sky watch, and being introduced to Geoff, the site-overseer).

“HE’S QUITE A CHARACTER. TOLD ME THAT USING MY CELLPHONE WOULD FRY MY BRAIN-CELLS. WHEN DARKNESS FELL, WE HAD SOME TROUBLE GETTING OUR FLASHLIGHTS TO WORK …”

(There was a very minor incident when Jason found he had forgotten to put fresh batteries in his torch, but that was the limit of the Trouble).

“GEOFF TOLD ME THAT IT IS FAR FROM AN UNUSUAL OCCURRENCE FOR FLASHLIGHTS, CAMERAS AND CELLPHONES TO ALL FAIL ON THIS SITE”.

(I was starting to feel very cynical about dear Geoffy, and wouldn’t have been at all surprised to learn that all the Witch Hill nonsense had originated from him too).

“TOWARDS THE END OF THE WATCH I WENT TO FIND GEOFF IN HIS LITTLE KIOSK TO TELL HIM WE WERE BRINGING THINGS TO A CLOSE, BUT HE WAS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN. NOW THIS IS VERY UNUSUAL, AS GEOFF TOLD US HE NEVER LEAVES THE KIOSK AT ALL, NOT FOR A SINGLE MOMENT, WHEN HE IS ON DUTY”.

(Yeah right!).

“WHEN I DID FINALLY CATCH UP WITH HIM HE SAID HE HAD GONE TO FIND OUT WHO WAS THE SOURCE OF SOME FOOTSTEPS HE HAD HEARD IN THE BUSHES NEARBY. HE SAID IT IS NOT UNUSUAL FOR STRANGE, SHADOWY SHAPES TO BE SEEN HERE, AND THAT CHANTLEY STONES IS NO PLACE TO BE AFTER DARK. IT IS CERTAINLY A PLACE I WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE”.

(Translation: Geoff had gone for a piss/smoke/both, and was embarrassed to be found out of his Tardis).


Now I would be mad to deny that odd things happen in this area, after everything I’ve written about them, and I don’t want to be seen to be mocking Shirley’s sincerity, but we do have to try and keep things as truthful as possible. And contributions from the likes of wind-up merchants like Geoffy are not helpful to the cause at all!

A bit of light relief now anyway: Xanthe told me that, because of swine flu, Julie Sparrow is now refusing any physical contact with customers who (incredibly) part with good money for her psychic services.

“She says”, said Xanthe “That when she’s doing palm-reading from now on she’s going to use chopsticks to touch their hands.

I don’t know why this made me laugh as much as it did, but it did. The smile was wiped off my face later when Mr Beresford informed me that Princess Petal had requested me to do a portrait of her, as a wedding gift for her soon-to-be unfortunate new husband … a nude one.


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