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The bus dropped him at home just after 4 o'clock. The
pub was quiet when he arrived so he ventured into the
lounge bar. During opening hours he was not allowed
to go in but when the pub was closed he had free run.
There was a fire in the bar, and he stood by it for
a while, warming his legs and listening to the logs
crackle. The smell of the fire mingled with the wonderful,
familiar smells of spilt beer, cigars, and furniture
polish that he had known all his life. He slipped behind
the bar into the kitchen and found fresh sandwiches
in the fridge.
In his bedroom he checked that the ring of white paper
was still fastened to the window. He had expected it
to be there. His parents rarely ventured into the room.
They went into Charlotte?s room every day but not his.
They looked after his sister because she was still young,
but soon she would be trained, just like Michael, to
take care of herself, to make her own bed, to put laundry
in the hamper, to tidy, to vacuum the floor at least
once every two weeks and, later, to change her own linen
every Saturday morning. In earlier days his father had
served in the army and old habits died hard.
At first Michael had rebelled against the discipline.
Then he worked out that compliance brought with it a
set of benefits that far outweighed the costs. On one
hand he had to spend a few minutes each week doing housework.
On the other, he could live his life more or less as
he wanted without parental interference. He knew a good
deal when he saw one.
It was dark but with the street lighting Michael figured
that he could probably identify the house that he had
seen yesterday. He found the mark on the wallpaper,
turned off the main light, and then paused. Through
the window he saw a bright light, pulsing on and off.
He tried to take a sighting but the light stopped.
Quickly he took a pencil, placed the point in the mark
on the wallpaper, and slipped himself into position,
with the pencil resting, just like it had the previous
night, against the side of his head. He could see the
white circle on the window but there were no lights
inside it. He waited. Nothing.
He shifted a little but there was still nothing. Suddenly
there was a bright flash that lasted about half a second.
It was so quick that he wasn?t sure at first where it
had come from. It came again, and this time Michael
was ready for it. The light was dead in the centre of
the white circle on the window. He walked slowly forwards,
towards the window. Flash! He took two more steps and
then saw another flash, then another, very bright this
time. He reached out and slid the window open and stared
into the night. Flash!
Michael had no binoculars but he did have camera with
a good zoom lens. He focused on the house and watched
ten more flashes, each brighter than the last. There
was a pause of more than two minutes, and then some
more flashes. Michael swung the camera away from the
house, not quiet sure what he might see, but curious
anyway. He checked other houses, the gardens, car headlights,
and finally noticed the streetlamps. They had begun
to pulse. At first the effect was slight but the pulsing
grew more and more pronounced and soon the streetlamps
were off more than they were on.
There was another flash and a loud clap of thunder
and, as if someone had turned on a shower, it started
to rain hard. Michael swung the camera back to the house.
The light inside was also pulsing, in time with the
streetlamps. When it grew bolder the streetlamps grew
dimmer. When it faded the streetlamps returned to full
strength. This was seriously weird stuff.
A knock on the door made Michael jump so dramatically
that he almost dropped the camera.
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