This story was written for the Thatcham Festival of Arts and Leisure 2007. It was based on that year’s competition, which was for a story beginning with the sentence “Strange lights have been seen over the lake at Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre”. Just to make it a bit harder, each participant had to include a specific word of that sentence at least three times in the 300 words they were allocated. Yes, it does sound a bit complicated… read on to discover how it turned out.
“Strange lights have been seen over the lake at Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre.” Ernie Nuff, the council official, offered this nugget of information to Claire
“What sort of strange lights?” asked Claire.
“Dunno really. When I ordered the additional lighting, I was expecting traditional lighting.”
“How strange? Surely lighting is lighting?”
“Yes, but these are on long arms overhanging the lake. I wanted subterranean lights. I wanted the lake lit from under the water, not over it. Do me a favour, get over to the contractors and give ‘em hell. I want the strange lights taking down and the lights I ordered installing. I mean, how hard can it be? It’s not rocket science, especially as it’s down in black and white on the pre-order form!”
Claire immediately rang the contractor’s office to book an urgent appointment to get them to remove the lights they’d fitted.
“Hello, Claire Voyent here, Thatcham Council. I need to speak to your governor, and it’s a matter of utmost importance. Can I come over?”
* * *
Two days later, following a rocket from the council, a team of divers pulled into the Discovery Centre car park and promptly unloaded a mountain of gear. Having carted their stuff over toward the lake, air tanks were donned, and two divers waded cautiously into the gently lapping waters.
With a strangled shout, cut short and muffled by the face mask, one disappeared instantaneously.
Searching the disturbed area around him, the second diver could see nothing but bubbles as they broke surface and popped. He looked to shore and shrugged, a quizzical expression hidden by his own glass mask.
The foreman called, “Where the hell did he go?”
“Search me,” came the reply, as the second diver took two slow steps towards the disappearing bubbles then promptly disappeared himself!
‘Claire, our lines are jammed with calls about ‘The Rave’, what are you up to?’ screamed Ernie.
‘What are you rabbitting on about? Two divers have disappeared at the Discovery Centre; the police are all over me. For Gods sake, Ernie give me a break!
‘I can’t take much more of this’, said Ernie reaching for his Prozac tablets. ‘Five years ago I’d have taken early retirement – they don’t let you now.’
‘Ernie you should try being the Press Officer! We have two possible drownings and no bodies, The Ultimate Rave website has posted that the next major rave, The Swan Lake Rave, is at the Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre tomorrow and hundreds of youths in boots and sporting backpacks are already converging on Thatcham by train and old bangers. You won’t be the only one popping pills in Thatcham by tomorrow – what are you going to do about it?’
Ernie, an element of authority revived by his pills, said, ‘Get me the police.’
Claire made the connection and handed him the phone, ‘What the hell is going on, Charlie?’ he asked.
Ernie’s ears reddened, as he listened to Charlie for a full two minutes, the colour deepened, spreading across his face and below his white collar.
He took off his tie; the closest Claire had seen Ernie to a state of undress, and said, ‘He’s on his way to see me… I mean us.’
‘What did he say?’
‘The contractors we used, ‘Red Adair and Merry Men’, are well known to the police and, it seems, to the Security Services. Gordon blooming Brown has been briefed and may pay a visit to the Discovery Centre. My Goodness!
‘What have you done Claire?’
Claire reached for the phone, ‘I’m calling the Red Cross and St. Johns Ambulance Brigade.’
“What do you mean the divers have been missing since yesterday?” Charlie tapped his pen impatiently on his notebook. “Why didn’t you inform us of their disappearance before now?”
“It was after hours. We shut at four. The first I’d heard about it was this morning,” Claire said, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.
She couldn’t quite believe how quickly she’d been deserted by Ernie. Typical! Whenever anything happened she was always left to sort it out. The Newbury Weekly News would be back on the phone any minute.
Charlie wrote something down. “They’ll have been long gone by now,” he moaned.
“Who?”
“I’m sorry that’s classified information, on a need to know basis only.”
“I need to know, I’m the press officer.”
A smirk spread over Charlie’s face and he scribbled something else down.
She sighed. “But, what about the Swan Lake Rave at the Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre tomorrow? We can’t have thousands of youths converging at the lakes if they’re not safe.”
“Rave? I don’t know anything about a rave.” Charlie flicked through his notebook to check if he’d had written anything down to remind himself. “Are you sure?”
Claire bit her lip. Obviously, the Thatcham police hadn’t taken the time to look at the Ultimate Rave website. This had been a most exasperating day. Not only had she arranged for the Red Cross and St. Johns Ambulance Brigade to be there just in case, she was also going to have to rally the police too.
Claire Voyent would have to go to the lakes and investigate the disappearance of the divers herself. She’d find out why they were well known to the Security Services and what Gordon Brown had been briefed about. She’d discover who the ‘Red Adair and Merry Men’ contractors really were.
‘Have you never heard of indicators?’ screeched Claire, narrowly avoiding a Mercedes whose driver seemed to be on another planet. It was only eight am, but the day was going badly already. Opening the window of her ancient Fiesta, she hurled some well-practiced words of abuse at the figure behind the tinted glass.
Two hours later, following an exhausting slog around the Discovery Centre, she was no closer to solving any of her problems. She’d peered into the water at several locations but found no clues as to the whereabouts of the vanished divers. The strange lights looked on inscrutably, unwilling to give up their secrets to a mere council employee with a clipboard. ‘Think you’re so clever?’ she muttered, scowling up at the nearest lamp. ‘Just you wait until I come back with a big screwdriver and a welding torch.’
A splashing noise made her whirl round in alarm. She gasped. A man was striding out of the lake towards her. And not just any man – this specimen made Colin Firth as Mr Darcy look positively puny. Water streamed from his vest-clad torso as he shook his head, unleashing a mane of auburn locks.
‘Hamish McPherson, freelance ecologist.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just checking the pH levels out by the nesting rafts.’
Claire blushed. She wanted to ask if he’d seen any dead divers, but all she could think of was her weakness for Scottish accents. Especially belonging to men as attractive as this.
She took a deep breath. ‘Have you…’
He began at the same time. ‘Have we…’
‘Sorry. You go first.’
‘I was about to ask, have we met before?’ He looked at her carefully. ‘You wouldn’t happen to drive a K-reg Fiesta, would you?’
‘A Fiesta? I haven’t seen one all day…’ she said, blushing.
‘I was swimming about, testing the pH, when I noticed these strange lights. But when I went looking for them, I found something far more interesting. You want to come and have a wee look with me?’ He turned and strode off, his muscles rippling gently under his vest.
‘Cor, would I,’ Claire muttered, and ran after Hamish.
‘Have you seen these dreadful posters?’ He ripped an advert for the Swan Lake Rave off a willow tree. ‘If I find out who organised such an inappropriate event in such a place of beauty, I’ll wring their necks, you better believe it!’
‘I hadn’t seen them… must be one of those illegal ones… maybe we should call the police?’ At least that would tick one more thing off her list. ‘Didn’t you want to show me something?’
‘It’s just around here, if you turn your head like this, and peer through the trees, towards the lake…’
He put his hands around Claire’s shoulders, and gently twisted her into position. Between the trunks lining the edge of the water, she could make out a dark stretch of water.
‘It’s a trench. I swam as far as I could, but I need some proper equipment to find the bottom. Who know what could be down there!’
‘A trench? Surely it can’t be that deep?’ Claire said, thinking of her allotment, and sowing potatoes.
‘No, lassie, like in the ocean, could be miles deep, like a scar in the earth with undiscovered creatures far below the surface. Maybe we’ll find a girlfriend for Nessie.’ His eyes glazed over, his thoughts, no doubt on Scotland.
‘Could take you years to find her.’ Claire gazed at his wonderful auburn locks. ‘Need a place to stay?’
‘Centre this post between the sides of the trench please.’ He replied, handing her a piece of wood, which was conveniently lying on the bank, while frustratingly ignoring the question. ‘I’ll switch the sonar, and take a reading.’
She did as she was told. ‘When you said you’d need proper equipment to measure the depth. I assumed you would have to get it from somewhere?’ She asked, for something to say.
‘No. I left the rest of my gear in the Nature Centre, but I never go anywhere without my trusty waterproof sonar equipment. It’s amazing what it can do.’
Claire looked at the black box and smiled. Beautiful thoughts of Hamish stirred in her imagination.
‘About the place to stay? I don’t suppose I could sleep at the Nature Centre?’ Hamish asked.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’ She saw the disappointment on Hamish’s face. ‘But I’ve got a room you could use for a few days. Anyway, first thing is to get you out of those wet clothes!’
‘Thanks. That would be perfect.’ He turned to face her, his hair falling across his face. She felt the centre of her stomach move with it. He stared again at the sonar. ‘Two hundred metres’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘The centre of that trench is two hundred metres deep, but move a metre either way and I could splash around in my wellies without getting wet. Something carved out that trench. But what?’
Clair watched him, staring at his features, weighing up which one she would kiss first. She had just decided that eyelids and forehead were both perfect and she would have to alternate between them, when something caught her eye. About twenty metres behind Hamish, towards the centre of the lake, she could see the water begin to boil.
The water on the lake wasn’t the only thing boiling.
At the distant end of the phone clamped to Charlie’s ear at Thatcham nick, the voice was verging on apoplectic. Bowels turned to jelly, Charlie wondered if the cable would stretch as far as the toilet.
‘Now you listen to me, old son! This blasted rave is simply not on. The last thing we want, the PM wants, is a bunch of ne’er-do-wells cavorting all over that lake.’
‘What am I supposed to do about it?’
‘Head ‘em off. I’m deploying a company of Royal Marines, the kind of chaps to crack a few skulls if needs be. Your job to ensure these blighters don’t come within a country mile of the lake. Understood?’
Back at Thatcham Discovery Centre, Claire and Hamish watched transfixed as what appeared to be a huge eye broke the surface. Being scared witless had its advantages, Claire reflected, as Hamish’s strong arms enveloped her. Head buried in his muscular chest, she listened to the reassuringly rhythmic beating of his heart. A girl could get used to this, she considered.
The eye swivelled, halted. It seemed to stare at them for a couple of beats, then promptly disappeared in a maelstrom of tiny bubbles.
‘I’m no expert, lassie, but that looked awfully like the business end of a periscope on a wee submarine to me.’
Meanwhile, standing horrified behind a hastily thrown-up roadblock on the A4, Charlie watched a group of gun-toting squaddies strutting their stuff. He could picture the headlines – Thatcham the next Iraq.
The first coachload of ravers drew up. Decision time. Early retirement under the watchful eye of his missus or confrontation on the streets of Thatcham? No contest. Hefting the riot baton in his hand, Charlie stepped resolutely forward.
Strange, strange… it all seemed so strange. Caught in the arms of a stranger, Claire began to have fantasies, of how divers could be snatched by submarines, and submarines might be looking for something unnameable in a 200 metre deep trench.
“Let’s go, Hamish!” she said. Curiosity had taken her, but it was hard to think while being drowned in hormones.
“How big, Hamish, do you think that submarine was?” she asked.
“It’s not size that counts,” he replied. “It’s the depth to which it will dive. But I think it could go all the way down to the bottom of the trench. Still, why? And who is they?”
“Red Adair,” she said.
“But there’s no oil here!”
“Do we know that?”
It seemed such a moment of revelation. No-one ever knows what they don’t know, and if Donald Rumsfeld had been there he might have said the same.
“Do you like Americans?” asked Hamish.
“Scotsmen,” answered Claire. “And oil wealth. That normally means the North Sea, doesn’t it? But could it also mean Thatcham Lake?” Her eyes were twinkling, which was both alluring and rather painful.
As they talked, on the far side a situation was developing. This was an interesting development in itself, since Hamish was, at that very moment, suggesting to Claire they go into a dark room and see what developed. Still, word games aside, a diver was emerging from the lake. He didn’t look like a diver. His gear was gone and, not to put too fine a point on it, he was without clothing apart from a little strategically placed seaweed draped over his body. His limped onto the shore, his shoulders drooping from the cold.
“He wants a conference!” shouted the diver. A gathering band of New Age travellers on the bank stared but, worryingly, it was a boy who giggled.
“Mr Adair,” the diver screamed. “He wants a conference NOW!”
If Claire had been present on Tuesday when the divers entered and disappeared into the lake, she would have realised she was looking at one of the supposed missing men, Trevor. Knowledge, which could have helped reduce her workload by two instead of increasing it.
“Who exactly do you want a conference with?” asked Hamish, as Claire simultaneously thought this was something else she would probably have to organise.
“Your leader,” came the reply.
“Ernie?” she thought. Her head was so full of Hamish, raves, Hamish, submarines, Hamish, lights, and Hamish, she was having a little difficulty in thinking straight.
She went off into a huddle with Hamish to discuss their next move and when they turned back again, Claire was relieved to see a new age traveller had lent Trevor a poncho, through which his head poked. The mix of yellow and light green was rather lurid though. Luckily it came down to his knees.
Abandoning the lakes, submarines and hippy crowds, the trio headed back to the safety of the council offices, where a little while later a rather bemused Ernie found himself in a tight negotiating situation with Trevor, who turned out to be the PR officer for the Red Adair group.
“We’ve seen the light but are misunderstood,” Trevor was saying “We are looking for eco-friendly sustainable oil and alternatives. We just want to help save the planet not destroy it.”
“And what does the Thatcham Lakes have to do with any of this?” Ernie asked, wondering if there was any chance he could get away early and tend to his allotment, whilst it was still light.
“We’ve discovered something important there. Something that could transcend the way we use oil and for many years to come. Plus putting Thatcham on the map.”
Go to Thatcham Discovery Centre today and look at the lake. Nothing strange can be seen. It looks perfectly normal as if nothing had ever happened. This was exactly what had happened; nothing. Nothing… except an overexcited young woman who not only had dreams at night but in full daylight sitting at her tiny desk, daydreaming she was riding through the sky on a winged motorcycle or peering at beings on another planet. All these dreams, both day and night, included muscular Scottish men and fathomless voids. The Prime Minister was normal too, though was simply Scottish and not muscular. What was unusual about this particular dream were not the strange lights, divers, Hamish or oil but that she was not the voyeur. Instead she was the one being watched.
Claire felt tired, and decided to leave early. She crossed the car park and got into her Fiesta. She started the engine and set off. At the exit she tried to turn right. It went left. The steering wheel felt normal but had no effect, the car going where it wanted.
Claire spotted the Discovery Centre. The car accelerated as if it recognised something. Claire trod hard on the brake pedal but nothing happened. The car went faster and faster. It cornered fast and headed for the lake. She pinched herself to prove she was awake, and then she screamed. A K-Reg Fiesta never went this quickly. Over the boards it went. It seemed to sense Claire’s fear and thrived on it, going ever faster.
It hit the water without a splash and went down. In the murky gloom Claire could make out divers assembling huge lights. Did that one look like an eye? Further down they went, down, down, down, and it became dark.
Festival story 2007
This story was written for the Thatcham Festival of Arts and Leisure 2007. It was based on that year’s competition, which was for a story beginning with the sentence “Strange lights have been seen over the lake at Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre”. Just to make it a bit harder, each participant had to include a specific word of that sentence at least three times in the 300 words they were allocated. Yes, it does sound a bit complicated… read on to discover how it turned out.
Ian | Tom | Anita | Lynda | Lisa | Steve | Geoff | Dave | Pat | Tony
Ian (300 words) (5x over)
“Strange lights have been seen over the lake at Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre.” Ernie Nuff, the council official, offered this nugget of information to Claire
“What sort of strange lights?” asked Claire.
“Dunno really. When I ordered the additional lighting, I was expecting traditional lighting.”
“How strange? Surely lighting is lighting?”
“Yes, but these are on long arms overhanging the lake. I wanted subterranean lights. I wanted the lake lit from under the water, not over it. Do me a favour, get over to the contractors and give ‘em hell. I want the strange lights taking down and the lights I ordered installing. I mean, how hard can it be? It’s not rocket science, especially as it’s down in black and white on the pre-order form!”
Claire immediately rang the contractor’s office to book an urgent appointment to get them to remove the lights they’d fitted.
“Hello, Claire Voyent here, Thatcham Council. I need to speak to your governor, and it’s a matter of utmost importance. Can I come over?”
* * *
Two days later, following a rocket from the council, a team of divers pulled into the Discovery Centre car park and promptly unloaded a mountain of gear. Having carted their stuff over toward the lake, air tanks were donned, and two divers waded cautiously into the gently lapping waters.
With a strangled shout, cut short and muffled by the face mask, one disappeared instantaneously.
Searching the disturbed area around him, the second diver could see nothing but bubbles as they broke surface and popped. He looked to shore and shrugged, a quizzical expression hidden by his own glass mask.
The foreman called, “Where the hell did he go?”
“Search me,” came the reply, as the second diver took two slow steps towards the disappearing bubbles then promptly disappeared himself!
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Tom (300 words) (3x Discovery)
‘Claire, our lines are jammed with calls about ‘The Rave’, what are you up to?’ screamed Ernie.
‘What are you rabbitting on about? Two divers have disappeared at the Discovery Centre; the police are all over me. For Gods sake, Ernie give me a break!
‘I can’t take much more of this’, said Ernie reaching for his Prozac tablets. ‘Five years ago I’d have taken early retirement – they don’t let you now.’
‘Ernie you should try being the Press Officer! We have two possible drownings and no bodies, The Ultimate Rave website has posted that the next major rave, The Swan Lake Rave, is at the Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre tomorrow and hundreds of youths in boots and sporting backpacks are already converging on Thatcham by train and old bangers. You won’t be the only one popping pills in Thatcham by tomorrow – what are you going to do about it?’
Ernie, an element of authority revived by his pills, said, ‘Get me the police.’
Claire made the connection and handed him the phone, ‘What the hell is going on, Charlie?’ he asked.
Ernie’s ears reddened, as he listened to Charlie for a full two minutes, the colour deepened, spreading across his face and below his white collar.
He took off his tie; the closest Claire had seen Ernie to a state of undress, and said, ‘He’s on his way to see me… I mean us.’
‘What did he say?’
‘The contractors we used, ‘Red Adair and Merry Men’, are well known to the police and, it seems, to the Security Services. Gordon blooming Brown has been briefed and may pay a visit to the Discovery Centre. My Goodness!
‘What have you done Claire?’
Claire reached for the phone, ‘I’m calling the Red Cross and St. Johns Ambulance Brigade.’
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Anita (300 words) (5x been)
“What do you mean the divers have been missing since yesterday?” Charlie tapped his pen impatiently on his notebook. “Why didn’t you inform us of their disappearance before now?”
“It was after hours. We shut at four. The first I’d heard about it was this morning,” Claire said, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.
She couldn’t quite believe how quickly she’d been deserted by Ernie. Typical! Whenever anything happened she was always left to sort it out. The Newbury Weekly News would be back on the phone any minute.
Charlie wrote something down. “They’ll have been long gone by now,” he moaned.
“Who?”
“I’m sorry that’s classified information, on a need to know basis only.”
“I need to know, I’m the press officer.”
A smirk spread over Charlie’s face and he scribbled something else down.
She sighed. “But, what about the Swan Lake Rave at the Thatcham Nature Discovery Centre tomorrow? We can’t have thousands of youths converging at the lakes if they’re not safe.”
“Rave? I don’t know anything about a rave.” Charlie flicked through his notebook to check if he’d had written anything down to remind himself. “Are you sure?”
Claire bit her lip. Obviously, the Thatcham police hadn’t taken the time to look at the Ultimate Rave website. This had been a most exasperating day. Not only had she arranged for the Red Cross and St. Johns Ambulance Brigade to be there just in case, she was also going to have to rally the police too.
Claire Voyent would have to go to the lakes and investigate the disappearance of the divers herself. She’d find out why they were well known to the Security Services and what Gordon Brown had been briefed about. She’d discover who the ‘Red Adair and Merry Men’ contractors really were.
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Lynda (300 words) (4x have)
‘Have you never heard of indicators?’ screeched Claire, narrowly avoiding a Mercedes whose driver seemed to be on another planet. It was only eight am, but the day was going badly already. Opening the window of her ancient Fiesta, she hurled some well-practiced words of abuse at the figure behind the tinted glass.
Two hours later, following an exhausting slog around the Discovery Centre, she was no closer to solving any of her problems. She’d peered into the water at several locations but found no clues as to the whereabouts of the vanished divers. The strange lights looked on inscrutably, unwilling to give up their secrets to a mere council employee with a clipboard. ‘Think you’re so clever?’ she muttered, scowling up at the nearest lamp. ‘Just you wait until I come back with a big screwdriver and a welding torch.’
A splashing noise made her whirl round in alarm. She gasped. A man was striding out of the lake towards her. And not just any man – this specimen made Colin Firth as Mr Darcy look positively puny. Water streamed from his vest-clad torso as he shook his head, unleashing a mane of auburn locks.
‘Hamish McPherson, freelance ecologist.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just checking the pH levels out by the nesting rafts.’
Claire blushed. She wanted to ask if he’d seen any dead divers, but all she could think of was her weakness for Scottish accents. Especially belonging to men as attractive as this.
She took a deep breath. ‘Have you…’
He began at the same time. ‘Have we…’
‘Sorry. You go first.’
‘I was about to ask, have we met before?’ He looked at her carefully. ‘You wouldn’t happen to drive a K-reg Fiesta, would you?’
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Lisa (300 words) (3x seen)
‘A Fiesta? I haven’t seen one all day…’ she said, blushing.
‘I was swimming about, testing the pH, when I noticed these strange lights. But when I went looking for them, I found something far more interesting. You want to come and have a wee look with me?’ He turned and strode off, his muscles rippling gently under his vest.
‘Cor, would I,’ Claire muttered, and ran after Hamish.
‘Have you seen these dreadful posters?’ He ripped an advert for the Swan Lake Rave off a willow tree. ‘If I find out who organised such an inappropriate event in such a place of beauty, I’ll wring their necks, you better believe it!’
‘I hadn’t seen them… must be one of those illegal ones… maybe we should call the police?’ At least that would tick one more thing off her list. ‘Didn’t you want to show me something?’
‘It’s just around here, if you turn your head like this, and peer through the trees, towards the lake…’
He put his hands around Claire’s shoulders, and gently twisted her into position. Between the trunks lining the edge of the water, she could make out a dark stretch of water.
‘It’s a trench. I swam as far as I could, but I need some proper equipment to find the bottom. Who know what could be down there!’
‘A trench? Surely it can’t be that deep?’ Claire said, thinking of her allotment, and sowing potatoes.
‘No, lassie, like in the ocean, could be miles deep, like a scar in the earth with undiscovered creatures far below the surface. Maybe we’ll find a girlfriend for Nessie.’ His eyes glazed over, his thoughts, no doubt on Scotland.
‘Could take you years to find her.’ Claire gazed at his wonderful auburn locks. ‘Need a place to stay?’
Back to top
Steve (300 words) (6x centre)
‘Centre this post between the sides of the trench please.’ He replied, handing her a piece of wood, which was conveniently lying on the bank, while frustratingly ignoring the question. ‘I’ll switch the sonar, and take a reading.’
She did as she was told. ‘When you said you’d need proper equipment to measure the depth. I assumed you would have to get it from somewhere?’ She asked, for something to say.
‘No. I left the rest of my gear in the Nature Centre, but I never go anywhere without my trusty waterproof sonar equipment. It’s amazing what it can do.’
Claire looked at the black box and smiled. Beautiful thoughts of Hamish stirred in her imagination.
‘About the place to stay? I don’t suppose I could sleep at the Nature Centre?’ Hamish asked.
‘No. I’m afraid not.’ She saw the disappointment on Hamish’s face. ‘But I’ve got a room you could use for a few days. Anyway, first thing is to get you out of those wet clothes!’
‘Thanks. That would be perfect.’ He turned to face her, his hair falling across his face. She felt the centre of her stomach move with it. He stared again at the sonar. ‘Two hundred metres’ he said to nobody in particular. ‘The centre of that trench is two hundred metres deep, but move a metre either way and I could splash around in my wellies without getting wet. Something carved out that trench. But what?’
Clair watched him, staring at his features, weighing up which one she would kiss first. She had just decided that eyelids and forehead were both perfect and she would have to alternate between them, when something caught her eye. About twenty metres behind Hamish, towards the centre of the lake, she could see the water begin to boil.
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Geoff (300 words) (4x Thatcham)
The water on the lake wasn’t the only thing boiling.
At the distant end of the phone clamped to Charlie’s ear at Thatcham nick, the voice was verging on apoplectic. Bowels turned to jelly, Charlie wondered if the cable would stretch as far as the toilet.
‘Now you listen to me, old son! This blasted rave is simply not on. The last thing we want, the PM wants, is a bunch of ne’er-do-wells cavorting all over that lake.’
‘What am I supposed to do about it?’
‘Head ‘em off. I’m deploying a company of Royal Marines, the kind of chaps to crack a few skulls if needs be. Your job to ensure these blighters don’t come within a country mile of the lake. Understood?’
Back at Thatcham Discovery Centre, Claire and Hamish watched transfixed as what appeared to be a huge eye broke the surface. Being scared witless had its advantages, Claire reflected, as Hamish’s strong arms enveloped her. Head buried in his muscular chest, she listened to the reassuringly rhythmic beating of his heart. A girl could get used to this, she considered.
The eye swivelled, halted. It seemed to stare at them for a couple of beats, then promptly disappeared in a maelstrom of tiny bubbles.
‘I’m no expert, lassie, but that looked awfully like the business end of a periscope on a wee submarine to me.’
Meanwhile, standing horrified behind a hastily thrown-up roadblock on the A4, Charlie watched a group of gun-toting squaddies strutting their stuff. He could picture the headlines – Thatcham the next Iraq.
The first coachload of ravers drew up. Decision time. Early retirement under the watchful eye of his missus or confrontation on the streets of Thatcham? No contest. Hefting the riot baton in his hand, Charlie stepped resolutely forward.
‘Right, let’s be having ‘em.’
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Dave (300 words) (3x strange)
Strange, strange… it all seemed so strange. Caught in the arms of a stranger, Claire began to have fantasies, of how divers could be snatched by submarines, and submarines might be looking for something unnameable in a 200 metre deep trench.
“Let’s go, Hamish!” she said. Curiosity had taken her, but it was hard to think while being drowned in hormones.
“How big, Hamish, do you think that submarine was?” she asked.
“It’s not size that counts,” he replied. “It’s the depth to which it will dive. But I think it could go all the way down to the bottom of the trench. Still, why? And who is they?”
“Red Adair,” she said.
“But there’s no oil here!”
“Do we know that?”
It seemed such a moment of revelation. No-one ever knows what they don’t know, and if Donald Rumsfeld had been there he might have said the same.
“Do you like Americans?” asked Hamish.
“Scotsmen,” answered Claire. “And oil wealth. That normally means the North Sea, doesn’t it? But could it also mean Thatcham Lake?” Her eyes were twinkling, which was both alluring and rather painful.
As they talked, on the far side a situation was developing. This was an interesting development in itself, since Hamish was, at that very moment, suggesting to Claire they go into a dark room and see what developed. Still, word games aside, a diver was emerging from the lake. He didn’t look like a diver. His gear was gone and, not to put too fine a point on it, he was without clothing apart from a little strategically placed seaweed draped over his body. His limped onto the shore, his shoulders drooping from the cold.
“He wants a conference!” shouted the diver. A gathering band of New Age travellers on the bank stared but, worryingly, it was a boy who giggled.
“Mr Adair,” the diver screamed. “He wants a conference NOW!”
Back to top
Pat (300 words) (4x light)
If Claire had been present on Tuesday when the divers entered and disappeared into the lake, she would have realised she was looking at one of the supposed missing men, Trevor. Knowledge, which could have helped reduce her workload by two instead of increasing it.
“Who exactly do you want a conference with?” asked Hamish, as Claire simultaneously thought this was something else she would probably have to organise.
“Your leader,” came the reply.
“Ernie?” she thought. Her head was so full of Hamish, raves, Hamish, submarines, Hamish, lights, and Hamish, she was having a little difficulty in thinking straight.
She went off into a huddle with Hamish to discuss their next move and when they turned back again, Claire was relieved to see a new age traveller had lent Trevor a poncho, through which his head poked. The mix of yellow and light green was rather lurid though. Luckily it came down to his knees.
Abandoning the lakes, submarines and hippy crowds, the trio headed back to the safety of the council offices, where a little while later a rather bemused Ernie found himself in a tight negotiating situation with Trevor, who turned out to be the PR officer for the Red Adair group.
“We’ve seen the light but are misunderstood,” Trevor was saying “We are looking for eco-friendly sustainable oil and alternatives. We just want to help save the planet not destroy it.”
“And what does the Thatcham Lakes have to do with any of this?” Ernie asked, wondering if there was any chance he could get away early and tend to his allotment, whilst it was still light.
“We’ve discovered something important there. Something that could transcend the way we use oil and for many years to come. Plus putting Thatcham on the map.”
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Tony (300 words) (2x lake)
Go to Thatcham Discovery Centre today and look at the lake. Nothing strange can be seen. It looks perfectly normal as if nothing had ever happened. This was exactly what had happened; nothing. Nothing… except an overexcited young woman who not only had dreams at night but in full daylight sitting at her tiny desk, daydreaming she was riding through the sky on a winged motorcycle or peering at beings on another planet. All these dreams, both day and night, included muscular Scottish men and fathomless voids. The Prime Minister was normal too, though was simply Scottish and not muscular. What was unusual about this particular dream were not the strange lights, divers, Hamish or oil but that she was not the voyeur. Instead she was the one being watched.
Claire felt tired, and decided to leave early. She crossed the car park and got into her Fiesta. She started the engine and set off. At the exit she tried to turn right. It went left. The steering wheel felt normal but had no effect, the car going where it wanted.
Claire spotted the Discovery Centre. The car accelerated as if it recognised something. Claire trod hard on the brake pedal but nothing happened. The car went faster and faster. It cornered fast and headed for the lake. She pinched herself to prove she was awake, and then she screamed. A K-Reg Fiesta never went this quickly. Over the boards it went. It seemed to sense Claire’s fear and thrived on it, going ever faster.
It hit the water without a splash and went down. In the murky gloom Claire could make out divers assembling huge lights. Did that one look like an eye? Further down they went, down, down, down, and it became dark.
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