Scary Stories - Twist in the Tale Series

Changing Place

It was all comingback now. Every revolution of the car's wheels wound his memoryback as they took him closer to his destination. As the luxuriousmachine sliced through the virgin snow, the years reeled away,returning him to that day a lifetime ago. A lifetime ago? Yes -although in reality only ten years had past. A mere decade ...yet how full it had been, so rich and eventful, and so differentfrom that other existence. The existence that until now had beena blank.

The lane twistedsnakily through the wood, the sheltering trees on either sideallowing only a thin layer of snow to settle on its surface,presenting no hindrance to the powerful motor. The headlight'sbeams reflected off the stark whiteness, illuminating theotherwise unlit lane and transforming what in other conditionswould have been a dark, foreboding place into a Christmas cardscene. Little effort was needed from him to control the car; itwas as if it knew its own way to where it was travelling andwould carry him there regardless of which way he turned the wheel.Lulled by the gentle purr of the engine, he let his attentionstray from the road ahead. As if he were seated in a cinema,memories played on his mind's screen and the years fell away. Itwas as if the Change happened only yesterday.

Ten years to theday ago; ten years almost to the hour as he realised from thedashboard clock; and he had no doubt when he arrived at the Placeit would be ten years to the exact moment. It had been snowingthen too, but much harder. The car he was driving then bore nocomparison with the one he drove now. It stuttered and shuddered,protesting loudly as he had willed it to keep going. Bought for afew hundred pounds and held together by hope, he had despaired ofit surviving much longer.

Then, as now, ithad been the week before Christmas and he had been driving to hisparent's to spend the holiday at their new home. It had been thefirst time he had visited them in their isolated backwater, andthe way was new to him. He had run into the snow when he stillhad half the journey to complete. The snow had been light atfirst, but the further he had travelled, the heavier it hadbecome. Curtains of white had closed around him, fat flakes thestraining wipers had little effect on had obscured thewindshield, and a uniform blanket had obliterated any landmarkthat might have given a clue to his whereabouts. Inevitably,somewhere along the winding country roads, he had taken a wrongturning and become lost.

************

He could understandhis father choosing to spend his declining years in such an out-of-the-wayplace. After so long as just another rat in the race, it must bebliss to live in such splendid seclusion, far away from thepollution, the noise, the stress; he could not blame him wantingto get away from it all when he retired. He just wished hisparents had given him clearer instructions of how to get to them.Now he was lost in a seemingly endless wood and his old rustbucket was on its last legs.

At least the snowwasn't as bad here; the trees were keeping the worst of it offthe lane. All the same, the car was spluttering alarmingly; hehad to find some civilisation before it packed up on himaltogether. How he wished he could afford something better.Still, what could you do on a student's income?

He drove on,coaxing the car as hard as he dare. Once he got through the wood,surely he would come upon a village or a farm or something? Thelane twisted on, the trees bordering it becoming denser. Theyarched overhead, their branches meeting and intertwining. Only asprinkling of snow got through now. It was claustrophobic, likedriving through a tunnel. His weak lights did little to penetratethe darkness. At every turn he expected to find himself back inopen countryside, but the woods merely got thicker, even moreenclosing. Surely, they must end soon? Another turn, and stillmore trees.

He began to feelpanicky. A combination of worries: concern for his parents, whomust by now be wondering where he was; for his car, which mightbreak down or run out of petrol before he got to them; the fearof being stranded all night in the cold - all preyed on his mind.More than this, he had developed a near supernatural dread of thewood. For some time he had been avoiding looking to either sideof the lane, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead. Despite hisefforts though, his gaze persisted in straying to the sidewindows.

It was dark outthere - scary. The trees appeared to be getting closer, almost asif they were marching slowly towards him. He strained his eyes,were things moving in there: shadowy, indistinct shapes thatdisappeared when he tried to focus on them? And there, above thegrinding of the engine, wasn't that whispering? Could he hearvoices in the trees?

Stop it, he toldhimself, forcing his eyes forward. He was just tired. He had beentravelling a long time and his weary mind was playing tricks onhim. Just then, the car shuddered, almost stalled. Then theengine picked up again and carried him on. Please keep going ...please don't break down here!

Hold on! The treeswere thinning ahead. Had he come to the end of the woods? At last!He slowed the car and squinted through the windshield.

No! This couldn'tbe true! The wood hadn't finished - but the lane had. He had cometo a circular clearing. Snow lay thickly on the ground and a lastfew flakes fell from a starless sky. All around the almostperfect circle the trees clustered as thickly as ever. Behind himthe lane emerged from the tunnel of trees; in front - nothing,just trees. The lane simply ended.

Then the carstopped.

************

A wheel hitsomething buried in the snow, a tree branch or a large stone, thecar jerked and he was jolted back to the present day. He reallymust watch this woolgathering; it would not do to wrap himselfaround a tree before he even got to the Place. He knew, even ashe thought it, that this would not happen to him though. Nothingwould prevent him from being at the precise spot at the precisetime. Why, if he had the inclination he could take his hands fromthe wheel, shut his eyes and put his foot to the floor. Noaccident would befall him. He would get there. It was a foregonefact.

The headlightspierced the night. The trees, in stark, dark contrast to thesnow, looked like tall, thin soldiers advancing on him. With asmile, he remembered that other time when his imagination hadpopulated the wood with all kinds of horrors. Hysterical nonsense!

True, this was notsomewhere you would want to linger. Since that first time he hadbeen here, he had found out quite a bit about this area. Localgossip, old books and newspapers revealed a dark history ofunexplained happenings. Predominant among the stories were theones of strange disappearances and even stranger reappearances.Anyone entering this wood tended not to be seen again or, if theywere, they were somehow changed. Descriptions of these changeswere hazy, but all accounts agreed: those who came out of thewood - if they came out - were different.

Legends abounded,going back as far as anyone could remember. Witchcraft, Satanism,black magic: these and more esoteric theories had been putforward. The fact remained no satisfying conclusion had ever beenarrived at or seemed likely to be. Attempts had been made overthe years to build roads through and otherwise develop the wood,but always some calamity seemed to occur to prevent such projects.There was the famous incident of fifteen years ago whencontractors moved in to flatten the whole lot and build aprestigious housing estate. Disaster followed disaster. Machineryeither constantly broke down or apparently developed a life ofits own: five men were maimed by plant gone inexplicably out ofcontrol. Nothing went right. The company in charge of theoperation finally pulled out and another was brought in withequal lack of success. In the end the entire undertaking wasabandoned, and beaten, useless machines still lay rusting amongthe trees. Meanwhile, the entire area was shunned, only theignorant, the foolhardy and the lost ventured here anymore.

Oh yes, and thosein the know, he thought with a grin as he reached into hisdesigner jacket and pulled out a fat handmade cigar. Igniting itfrom the dashboard lighter he dragged deeply and luxuriouslyexhaled, filling the car with a cloud of expensive smoke. As hebreathed the rich aroma, he saw himself again as he had been tenyears ago. How young he had been, how green, how naïve. And howtimid. He had panicked like a scared rabbit when he had realisedhe was stranded in that clearing.

************

Now what?

He made a few half-heartedattempts to restart the car but knew it was futile; the enginehad cut out with the finality of a last breath.

God, it was dark.Cold too. Most of all, though, it was so creepy. Without thebenefit of his lights to soften the shadows, the wood around himlooked solid, an impassable wall, only the circular patch of skyabove relieved the sensation of being totally closed in.

He had to dosomething. He could not just sit here letting his imagination runrampant. He was beginning to think the clearing was shrinking,squeezing him ... and didn't something move just then? There,where it was darkest of all.

This was no good.He had to get a hold of himself. His hand went to the doorhandle, moved away, then returned. There were only two options:stay where he was and pray someone found him before he became agibbering wreck, or get out of the car and try find a way out ofthis damned wood on his own. He could not imagine another humanbeing - not one in his right mind, anyway - just happening alongin such an awful place on such an awful night. That left only oneoption.

Taking a deepbreath, he opened the door and stepped out of the car, ankle-deepin icy snow. Shivering, he pulled his flimsy coat tighter aroundhim and looked about. He began to walk around the clearing, atfirst keeping close to the car, its familiarity his sole safehaven. Feeling slightly braver, he widened his circle until hereached the margin of trees.

Close up they werenot as threatening, they were just trees after all. Nor were theyas tightly spaced as they had appeared before. Perhaps he couldfind a way through them? But which way? One direction was as badas any other; he seemed to be in the very heart of the wood:whichever way he took would make him even more lost than he wasnow; he could end up walking in circles until he came down withexhaustion or hypothermia.

And did he reallywant to go among the trees? For just a little while he had almostovercome his fear of them, almost persuaded himself there wasnothing ... wrong ... about them. Now his fear was back, turninginto something more. For some time, he had been seeing movementagain. Not outright and direct, but sneaky and subtle, on theperiphery of his vision. Out of the corner of his eye he wouldcatch a flicker of motion then, when he turned towards it,nothing, or it was just a branch shaking in a chance breeze.

Then somethingcaught his attention. Directly in front of him: a darker shadow,something still and hulking, black and silent. He found his feettaking him towards the shape despite his sudden terror. Heapproached slowly, almost tiptoeing. What? How the hell? Anearthmover - a big, rusting lump of machinery with the half-decipherablename of a plant hire company in flaking paintwork on its side,its bucket profuse with shrubbery. Out here ... in the middle ofnowhere? Why? How?

Shaking his head,he returned to the clearing and to his car. Only one thing leftto do: he would have to trudge back down the lane that hadbrought him here, hope he could find a turning he had missedbefore. Remembering a blanket he kept in the boot, he went to theback of the car. It was going to be a long, cold walk, theblanket would help, though it wouldn't look very elegant wrappedround him.

His hand on the lidof the boot, he paused, looked up. What was that? A soft, purringsound, getting louder. He straightened up, looked around, hisears pricked. It was getting louder, closer. He moved from thecar locating the direction the sound was coming from. Then,suddenly, the whole clearing was bathed in strong, white light.

************

Almost there now.Just around the next bend and he would be at the clearing. Hebrushed his hand through his hair in an unconscious concession totidying himself up after the long drive. Catching himself in theaction, he dropped his hand, smiling. The one he was about tomeet would be concerned about his appearance, yes, but not abouta few stray hairs out of place.

A little further.There it was. The clearing, and, standing by that old wreck of acar, blinking in the headlight beams, there he was.

************

What?

Dazzled, he heldhis hand in front of his face, peered through his fingers. Twoorbs, like giant, staring eyes, blinding.

A car. It was a car!

But ... Out here?Why? What was another car doing here? Was it possible thatsomeone else had taken a wrong turn? What did it matter ..? Hewas not going to be stranded in this godforsaken place all nightafter all.

The strange cardrew up to a silent halt, its headlights dipped but remaining on,illuminating the clearing. He could see it was an expensivevehicle, sleek and polished, reeking of money. If you were to berescued, it might as well be in style.

There was a pause,during which he was aware of being keenly observed by a shadowyfigure inside the car. He felt scared suddenly: just who - orwhat - was in the other car? It might be some psycho who preyedin the depths of the night in lonely places.

He was conscious ofholding his breath and readying himself to run or fight, he knewnot which. Then the car door opened and a figure stepped out.

As if by somesignal things began to happen then. Strange things. For the firsttime he noticed how the moon hung exactly in the centre of thecircle of sky overhead: an enormous full moon, lambent andunnaturally bright, it cast an eerie, sickly light on theclearing. There had been no breath of breeze before, and therestill was none inside the clearing, but outside it, a veritablegale blew. The trees rocked and swayed, bending alarmingly as thewind howled - no, that was the wrong word - it screamed throughthe crowded trunks and branches. Above, angry clouds swirled andspiralled in a mad dance around the fantastically coloured andglowing moon. While, within the circle, it was preternaturallystill and quiet: deathly so, nothing moved, not even a hair ofhis head, and the noise of the wind seemed somehow separate,distant. It was like standing in the eye of a hurricane.

All this registeredon his senses only marginally, he was aware of it and terrifiedby it; but his fortitude could only cope with one assault at atime, and at that moment he was more concerned by what his eyeswere focused on. The driver of the car was walking towards him.

"I don'tbelieve this ... who are you?"

It was like lookingin a mirror. The man approaching him, dressed in an elegant suitso incongruous in this wild place, apart from being perhaps a fewyears older, was the exact image of himself.

Too dumbfounded tospeak again, he stared wide-eyed as the man neared. The closer hecame, the more apparent the similarity became. The same eyes, thesame nose, the same mouth, the hair, somewhere between straightand curly, the exact same shade of brown as his own - why, heeven had the same small scar on his cheek, like the one he hadacquired falling off a bike when he was seven. It was incredible.

The man stopped infront of him, held out his hand and grasped his own - his skineven felt the same. They stood a moment, staring into eachother's eyes. It was like looking into his own soul. The mansmiled.

"Don't bealarmed," the man said, still holding his hand.

"But..."Words failed him as the face he shaved every morning looked backat him from another's body - a body the same as his - and usedthe same voice that came from his own lips.

"Yes, I knowit must be a shock and very hard to comprehend, but there's moreto come. I've got even more surprises for you." The man -the other him - finally let go of his hand and raised his arm toconsult a heavy gold watch that must have cost a fortune, "Andthere's very little time for you to prepare for them."

"What ... whatare you talking about? Who are you?"

"Ah, what am Italking about? I'm talking about your... our future - and who amI? Who do I look like?"

"Who ..? Well...You look like me, uncannily so. It's unbelievable...

"Yes,"the man cut him off, "I look like you - you look like me."He came closer, grasped him by the shoulders as if to supporthim, "We look alike because," his grip strengthened,"We are one and the same person. You are me - I am you."

He staggered backagainst his own car, "What do you mean? Are you saying we'retwins or something? But that's not possible - I am an only child."

"Yes, I know,and no, I'm not saying that - I repeat, we are one."

"Oh, come on!This is complete rubbish!" and he turned to leave - andrealised he had nowhere to go. He was stuck with this... madman?

"Look, I don'texpect you to believe me, and I haven't time to convince you. Youwill come to accept the truth later - when I'm gone. I can tellyou all kinds of things about yourself, things only you couldknow, but," he looked at his watch again, "Time is verylimited. For now, you will have to accept my word, and this."

The man moved histie to one side and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt,"What are the chances of two different people, meeting forthe first time in a place like this both having one of these?"

"But I've..."

"Yes, I know,you have one exactly like it. You have always said you must havebeen born lucky - perhaps you were." As he said this, theman refastened his shirt, covering the birthmark on his chest.

What was going onhere? This was getting weirder and weirder. The clouds werecircling the sickly-looking moon faster and faster; the wind waswhipping the trees harder, bending them all in the same direction- as if it were blowing around the clearing... Or was it that theclearing itself was spinning? Spinning faster and faster. Nowthis - he fingered his own chest, rubbing the place where he knewhis own birthmark to be. The mark he'd had all his life andassumed unique to him alone - his 'lucky' mark - the one in theshape of a four-leaf clover.

Consulting hiswatch again, the other said, "Now, there is very little timeleft. You will just have to believe everything I say. You willfind out the truth of it in the future. For now you will justhave to listen closely to me," he raised his hand andstroked his face, " I can tell by your expression that it isstarting to happen already."

It was true: he hadbeen staring intently at the other's face. He had assumed it wasjust his imagination; now he was not so certain. Originally hehad thought the man only a few years older than himself, but nowthere were subtle changes. There were wrinkles he was sure hadnot been there before, and was the other's hair thinner andinterspersed with grey? Did he look somehow more aged?

"Ah, you cansee it, can't you? It will become more apparent soon. The thingis, I cannot exist in the same space as you. I've already toldyou we are both the same person. That is true - except for onething - I am you in ten year's time."

"Oh come on!"

"Pleaselisten, there really is no time for debate. You see, this is avery special place. Why and how it came to be so I can't explain;I only know that it is. Over the last few years - as you will inthe years to come - I have researched and puzzled and ponderedthe history of this area and not come anywhere near to finding ananswer. Some clever scientist might say it is something to dowith a rift in the space/time continuum or some such, or the factthat several ley lines converge here, or that the place is soakedin ritual and ceremony - I don't know. Perhaps there are placeslike this all over the world, the Bermuda Triangle, for instance... The fact is, we are standing in the middle of some sort ofnatural time machine, without all the fancy valves and wires andflashing lights of science fiction."

"This isridiculous, how can you expect me to swallow this rubbish?"

"Yes I know,not easy is it?" But," he spread his arms wide, "Howdo you account for all this; not exactly natural, is it?"Outside the clearing the wind's ferocity had increased to such anextent that not just leaves and snow, but loose branches and evensmall stones were being picked up and blown through the air roundand round the circle. Or was it that the clearing itself wasspinning? It was difficult to be sure. He felt the need to holdon to something; he was suddenly nauseous and dizzy. It was as ifhe had been thrown into a super-fast fairground ride gone mad. Heturned back to the other, the only solid thing around, desperateto regain his balance.

However, there wasno relief for his senses there. The man in front of him, theolder version of himself, was even older. There was no doubtabout it now; in the few moments he had looked away, dramaticchanges had occurred. What was left of the other's hair, for alot of it had disappeared, was definitely grey now; his skin, nowsagging and more deeply etched with wrinkles, had become thesallow yellow of parchment. It was not just his face that borethe marks of advancing years; they had both been exactly the sameheight a short time before, now he looked down on the other. Theman was thinner and smaller, shrinking in on himself.

More alarmingstill, he could actually see the process happening; his eyes werewitnessing the other getting older in front of him. He could seethe man becoming more wizened and shrunken; see his flesh gettinglooser and cracked and liver-spotted; see his shoulders hunchingand his back bowing.

"Now do youbegin to believe what I'm trying to tell you?" the otherasked. Even his voice had aged and his words were muffled andslurred. His younger self - he was coming to accept himself assuch in a frantic need to make some kind of sense of what he wasseeing - nodded dumbly, realising that the old man's speech wasimpaired by the fact that behind the thin lips there were nolonger any teeth. "Good, then please listen while I explainas much as I can in the short time left, for time is rushing by."

The spinning effectof the clearing had become more pronounced, it was difficult todistinguish individual trees, they merged together like thespokes of a rapidly revolving wheel. The old man took a stepcloser, as if to make himself heard more clearly. There was noneed; another of the weird phenomena was the complete absence ofnoise in the circle. All the indications were that there shouldbe a loud, rushing, roaring sound; instead there was a completehush; an utter, deathly silence.

"Ten yearsago," the old man said, "I was in exactly the samepredicament as you. I became lost on the way to my ... your ...our parent's. I too found myself in this clearing confronted bymy older self ... No, please don't interrupt, there isn't time -time is so important now. I know what you see, you see medisintegrating, growing older, before you. I know you'll findthis hard to accept but I don't feel any different, nor am I anydifferent. From my point of view time has slowed down and I amthe same person you saw step out of my car - hardly a wrinkle insight." He smiled, and to his younger self his expressionwas a grotesque parody on a face where the skin had now becometight-stretched over his skull. "For you, however," hecontinued, "Time has speeded up and is racing away in frontof you. Don't worry, it is not affecting you personally, andeverything will return to normal very soon. In the meantime, fora short period you are able to look into the future, indeed - Iam your future."

"Just aminute, are you saying that in ten year's time I will come tothis exact same place and meet and talk to myself as I am today?Why, accepting that I will be able to do such a thing, should Iwant to?"

"Now you havehit on it. I know what you are thinking - I thought the samethings when I was in your place - you are thinking that if I amfrom ten years in your future I should be able to tell you aboutthose ten years. Wouldn't that be great? I could tell you Lotteryresults, football scores, how the stock market will perform, whatmistakes I've made so you wouldn't repeat them ... the list isendless. I could make your life perfect. Unfortunately, no. I cantell you none of these things."

"But why?"his younger self interposed, seeing all sorts of possibilitieslighting up before him.

"Why? For onething, there is no time. Look at me." The older one waslittle more than a skeleton now, clothed in almost transparent,yellow skin. He was bent almost double and looked like a goodbreeze would blow him over. There was something else, though,something even stranger. The old man was fading. The young onethought it a trick of the light at first, but closer scrutinyconfirmed it, he could actually see through the other. He wasslowly disappearing.

"It is as Isaid, we cannot both exist in the same time and place. You see mefading? That is how you appear to me; you too are beginning tovanish. Soon, very soon, neither of us will exist for the otherand we will go our separate ways. Another reason I can tell younothing of your future is that it would be too dangerous. If youacted on something I told you, who knows what contradiction orparadox might result, what chain of events might occur? Pleasebelieve me, just as the past cannot be changed, neither can thefuture. Anyway, you can tell by the way I'm dressed and by my carthat you will do well."

The older one wasbecoming increasingly indistinct, the outline of his body wasfuzzy and the younger one could see the background through him.The expensive suit was little more than rotten rags hanging fromhis bony frame. The spinning of the clearing had intensified tosuch an extent it was clear some climax; some crescendo wasimminent.

The old one steppedforward, placed a cold, bony hand on the other's arm, his voiceseemed to come from a great distance, "There is one thing Ihave to tell you, however, it is the reason I am here and thereason why you too must return to this place in exactly tenyear's time - it is to save your life ... our life."

"What ..?"

"Listencarefully. I will tell you something of the past. So far changingit does not seem to have unduly affected the fabric of things, soI feel it is safe to tell you. Tonight at precisely eleveno'clock in that lane," he indicated the lane by which theyhad both entered the clearing, "There will be a car crash.Two cars, travelling in opposite directions, will hit each otherhead-on. Both occupants will be killed. Unless you do exactly asI say, you will be one of those occupants. Look at your watch."

The younger one didas he was bid and was amazed to see the hands of his watch racingmadly forward. They were spinning so rapidly he could barelyfollow them. "When I am gone," the old one continued,"Very soon now, you must get into your car. You will find itstarts with no problem now, just another of the strange effectsof this place. You must then drive fast, at no less than fortymiles an hour, back down the lane. When you came up the lanebecause of the way it bends, you failed to see a second lanebranching off about five miles back. When you go back, you willhave no difficulty in seeing the turning on your left. You mustget to it before eleven o'clock and before you meet the other car.Once on the other lane keep going, do not stop or turn back.Follow that lane and it will bring you to the main road whichwill take you to my ... your parent's house."

The younger onecould barely discern these last few words; they seemed to come tohim from the end of a long tunnel. He also could hardly see theother; the old man flickered in and out of visibility like adying candle flame. "But how will I know the time," heshouted now, trying to bring the old man back and indicating thefleeting hands of his watch, "And why eleven, why must Ireach the turning before eleven o'clock ... and what about you,what will happen to you?"

"Oh, you willknow the time," replied the old man in a voice that waslittle more than a whisper, though the other knew it was shouted,"And as for me, there is no need for you to worry. I amstill here exactly as I was. We are just going further apart fromeach other in time. When you leave I shall wait a short time,then get in my car and follow you and be on my own way."

The older onesuddenly faded away almost to nothingness, the other could onlyjust make out his outline, a thin mist against the swirlingbackground scenery. Then, just as suddenly, he came back intosharp focus and was as clearly visible and solid as the young onefelt himself to be. Withered and shrunken, little more than acrouching skeleton, the old one raised his arm in a gesture ofgoodbye and said, "Don't forget, you must come back here inexactly ten year's time to the moment."

Then he flickeredagain, sharply, like a lamp being turned on and off. All aroundthe clearing the trees spun silently faster and faster, so fastthey merged into one solid mass. The young one reeled on hisfeet, thrown off balance, his head felt squashed and squeezed byan intense pressure. He fell to his knees, hands clutching hishead. It felt like he was being pressed into the ground by anenormous hand. The pressure increased, a vast weight flatteninghim.

"No," hescreamed, "No, no, no."

Abruptly, theground beneath seemed to lift and rise and the sky above camedown to meet it. There was a shaking like a violent earthquake.Then everything - the whole world - seemed to pause. There was amassive bang and he was thrown flat on his face.

He did not know howlong he lay there; it could have been seconds or hours. When helooked up the first thing he saw was his car parked exactly as hehad left it, reassuringly familiar. Looking beyond the car, ittook him several moments to realise that the trees were behavingexactly like trees should, standing there gently waving theirbranches in the breeze. The ground beneath him was cold and wetwith snow but to his immense relief it was completely stationary.The sky too, was still and peaceful.

Suddenly then, anuncontrollable sense of urgency came over him. He had to get outof the clearing. Must do. He looked at his watch. The hands werestill whirling. He held his wrist up for several seconds beforehe realised the difference. The hands were still rushing round,yes, but now they were going the other way. They were goingbackwards.

He knew then. Knewhe had to get into his car. Knew he had to drive like crazy. Knewhe had to get to the turning before the hands of his watchreached eleven. Time was going backwards now; he had travelledinto the future, now he was returning. Most of all, he understoodnow the significance of eleven o'clock.

He rushed to thecar, opened the door and got in. It started first time, it neverdid that; it always took a couple of tries. He swung round in awide circle until the car pointed to the lane, pressed down onthe accelerator and raced forward.

Faster, faster.Such a narrow lane, no room to pass. Careful, don't want to smashinto the trees. Faster. The faster he drove, the faster the handsof his watch raced back. Must go faster. Nearly eleven. Teno'clock ... five past ... quarter past. Where's the turning? Mustbe near it now. Half past ... twenty to. I'm not going to make it.Where is that turning?

The hands of hiswatch sped back ever faster. Fourteen minutes to eleven. Where isthat bend in the lane? He remembered it so clearly now. He hadlooked at his watch so many times as he drove up the lane to theclearing, worrying because his parents would be worrying. He hadbeen looking at his watch, only one hand on the wheel, when hehad suddenly hit the bend. The bend had been so sudden and sosharp he had only just managed to keep control. He had almostgone off the road and smashed into a tree. He remembered it sowell - it had been at exactly eleven o'clock.

Eight minutes toeleven. The lane wound on, narrow and tree-crowded. Where was thebend, surely it must be near? Faster, faster. Six, five, fourminutes to eleven. There! No wonder he hadn't seen the other lanebefore. It lay just ahead on the crown of an acute angle where hehad almost lost the car. It would have been invisible coming fromthe other direction unless he had turned his head fully round.

Three minutes toeleven. He spun the car into the turning ... two minutes ... thecar hit a deep rut and nearly overturned. He fought the wheel ...one minute ... nearly lost the car again. Thirty seconds, twenty,ten ...

Five seconds ...made it. But only just. He was on the other lane. Eleven o'clockprecisely.

He turned his headand the night lit up behind him. A car struggled round the bendin the other lane, fighting the angle and nearly losing thestruggle. Another moment and both cars would have collidedwithout doubt. At the speed he had been doing the collision wouldhave been hard.

The second lane waseven narrower than the first. He drove on, slowly and steadilynow, resisting the desire to stop and rest, get his breath andrecover his senses. He felt rattled and bemused. A picture of theother car was emblazoned on his mind's eye.

What was anothercar doing out here in the middle of nowhere at this time ofnight? What were the chances of two cars being in such anisolated place at such a time - especially when ..? But no, hemust be wrong.

He had only seenthe other car very briefly before it disappeared around the bend- he must be mistaken. No, the picture in his mind was crystalclear. He was sure of it. The other car had been exactly like hisown. The same make and, as far as he could tell in the dark, thesame colour and the same state of disrepair. Besides, how manyother cars were there with the self-same replacement boot cover,like the one he had never got round to painting the same colouras the rest of the car, like the one he had dented the day afterhe'd fitted it - exactly like the dent on the car he had justnarrowly avoided crashing into?

But it was theimage of the last thing he had seen of the other car that wasbranded the most deeply on his inner vision. Just before it haddisappeared into the trees the moon had lit up its registrationplate. He had got a very clear view of it. There was no doubt.The other car's number and his were the same.

He drove on, sopreoccupied and shaken by the memory of the other car that hegave little thought to another memory insidiously creeping on theedges of his recollection. Half forgotten, the last words the oldman in the clearing had said echoed in his head.

"When youleave I shall wait a short time, then get in my car and followyou and be on my way."