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- Herausgeber: Liam Mor
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
From Scotland to Switzerland, from Plato to Star Trek, and from a life on benefits which changes after a dream-like encounter with a stranger in the Scottish Highlands. This science fiction story, written by Liam Mor, could be set in the future, the present or the past and threads across Europe to end in London, face to face with an unexpected power.
If you enjoyed reading this story, why not read one of the other works by Liam Mor.
Liam Mor is an independent amateur artist, living somewhere in Switzerland. Mostly he tries to understand the world, scratches his head in puzzlement and just gets on with it.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023
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by Liam Mor
Copyright ©2023 Liam Mor
First edition published 8th January 2016
Second edition published 22nd March 2022
Third edition published 14th May 2023 (this edition)
About the Author
Liam Mor is an independent amateur artist, living somewhere in Switzerland. Mostly he tries to understand the world, scratches his head in puzzlement and just gets on with it.
Visit Liam’s website: https://liam-mor.com/
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
It grates on my nerves when I think back to the first time that I encountered an alien - his bagpipe playing had woken me up. It was in the 1980s one morning after I had made the long journey up to the very north-western tip of Scotland. Rather than continuing all the way to the northernmost coast, I had been persuaded by adverse weather reports, typical of the Scottish Springtime, to stop off in Applecross instead and spend a few days at Torridon maybe. But somehow I had felt optimistic, changed my mind again, and I pressed on with my original plan to spend a few days at the north coast Sandwood Bay, isolated from the world.
I set off at dawn on a bright and cold day. As usual I was to travel alone. A long trip northwards, sparse traffic in the early morning. As I left the Central Lowlands near Perth the traffic briefly became noticeable as the few people still employed in these depressed times went to work. I reached Glencoe in mid-morning as it began to rain. That great dark valley is at its best in the gloom of a rainy day, the ill-weather a threatening remainder of the mood of that infamous Massacre. I parked for a few minutes near the valley section known as the Three Sisters, three buttresses extending from a massive mountain to my left. Leaving the car for a moment to take some air and stretch my legs I looked away from the Sisters towards the ridge on the northern side of the valley. The Aonach Eagach ridge spread dangerously across the sky above my head. There the Glencoe Massacre continues. An unpleasant place to be in bad weather, I remembered. Not so easy in good weather either. I shivered in the cold morning wind and returned inside my car, feeling relieved to be again shielded from the wind and light rain. I stopped for lunch near Ullapool, eating take-away fish and chips (with ketchup and giant pickled onions) in the car, opening the passenger-door window a little to avoid steaming up the windscreen with the smelly hot vapour from my lunch. The cold wind managed to enter even through that small crack, just annoying enough to make me feel happy to be under cover. Shortly after lunch I continued to travel further north leaving the rain behind. The road became single track north of Torridon as I crossed the great granite landscapes. Eventually the asphalt road ended and a stony track led onwards soon to finish near a group of small lakes. I parked on the grassy edge of the track, stuffed a few more odds and ends into my rucksack, pulled it on, locked the car and headed off on the faint traces of path towards the bay. After a couple of miles, I arrived on the clean beach sand. Not a footprint in sight. I looked around for any tents, any sign of life. Nobody. Only wilderness. I veered off the beach and crossed the sandy grass towards the small sea-cliffs a short distance from the beach. Carefully I selected a fairly heathery patch of ground at the foot of the cliffs for the tent, and leaving my rucksack on the ground there I made a quick reconnaissance to find a source of water. I heard the water before I saw it, maybe fifty metres from my potential camp. The ground was marshy so I decided to erect the tent on the dry heather instead of moving it closer to the water supply streaming lightly down the face of the black cliffs. I had no idea where it came from, apart from above; maybe there could have been a dead sheep out of sight at the head of the cliff decomposing into the running water that I intended to drink. No way of knowing for sure but who cares. The water looked good enough to me. Flowing fast, crystal clear, and freezing cold. I scooped up some in my hands, fronds of moss tickling my hand briefly before losing all sensation in my fingers and then I slurped down the cold liquid. Delicious. I looked around again to confirm that nobody else was camped nearby then returned to my rucksack and started to put up the tent. Simultaneously it started to rain. I put up the flysheet first then threw my rucksack underneath and crawled inside just as the downpour really got going. I lay out my sleeping mat then lay down on it. The inner tent could wait for a little while I decided. Closing my eyes I let the noise of the rain on the outside of the tent wash over me.
When I opened my eyes again it was dark and silent. I felt around for my rucksack and eventually found the pocket containing my head-torch and I slipped it on. Turning on the light I found the exit of the tent and opened the zip a little. I turned off the light and stuck my head outside. Not a drop of rain to spoil the moonlit evening. I closed the zip and began to put up the inner part of the tent. Sleeping bag inside, then a confused search for food and drink. A single can of beer, some whisky, dehydrated food (pasta with a soya-based spicy bolognese type sauce) and finally the stove. Pulling on a waterproof jacket, I stuffed all this stuff into my pockets or under my arms and left the tent. Full pockets, stove clutched in one hand, and whisky clenched in the other and with a rolled up sleeping mat under one arm, I wandered off into the night. I left the head torch off and used only moonlight to find my way across the grassy ground to the beach.
