by Antony J Waller

Created on: June 20, 2009

Harry's Mysterious Visitor

It was late afternoon on a damp, cold and gloomy day and beginning to get dark. A light mist hung in the air which was now slowly falling and obscuring the familiar local landmarks. Pools of light from the street lights were already failing to penetrate the darker shadows creeping out from the buildings, blurring the shapes on either side of the street. A strange quietness was descending, and those sounds that could be heard seemed muffled and eerie. And that is when it all began to happen. A light 'tap tap' on the window which grew steadily louder and louder and then, just as suddenly stopped. There was a momentary silence followed by the sound of shuffling feet and a loud 'knock knock' at the door. Harry sighed at the interuption, put down his book and got up from his chair next to a warm cosy log fire. He answered the door.

Harry drew back the bolt, turned the handle and cautiously opened the door a little way. He was not expecting any visitors, certainly not on an afternoon like this. The light spilled out from the room behind him onto the doorstep and in front of him stood a slightly dishevelled figure dressed in what looked like an old Edwardian style dress and wearing bright red leather boots with three-inch heels. A pair of spectacles was perched precariously on top of her head and twinkling blue eyes and an ever widening smile stared back at him.

"Hello, Harry" the figure said, "don't be alarmed. I do hope I have arrived in time for tea."

That must explain all, he thought to himself looking at a woman standing before him. But who was she. She was not a young woman, but not exactly old either. There seemed to be something vaguely familiar about her, and yet nothing he could quite put his finger on. Before Harry had the chance to reply she picked up a large faded and well-worn Gladstone bag resting at her feet, pushed past him and dropped into the armchair by the fireside. His armchair, the one he had just been comfortably sitting in.

"A pot of tea would be nice. There's a darling. Then we need to talk, don't we? And you can warm and butter these."

She held out a plate of scones plucked from the depths of the Gladstone bag and placed it on a small table nearby. This was becoming surreal. Further rummaging in her bag produced a well-thumbed notebook and a pencil all held together with an elastic band which she placed on her lap. As she opened the notebook a photograph fell onto the floor and landed face

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