October hardens like a scab.
The winter of 1971 was as bitter as the grave and as long as any anyone could remember in Snowdonia.
Snow fell and blanketed the villages and terrible winds wailed across the tops right up until the first days of Spring should have come. But they didn't.
The weather was a like a mad devil and gripped the land in its lengthening claws, a wild vampire sucking the light from the days.
Nothing stirred in that dark wind-blasted season and lost souls were blown off-course in the dreadful months of ice and sleet at the bitten end of the year.
In early March and unexpectedly snug in the tiny Welsh hamlet of Glasynfryn, a man sat with his dog by a warm log fire and listened to Budgie, the new rock trio giving Led Zepp a run for their money. His small place glowed in the fell night like a beacon.
Relaxing to the heavy riffs with a long joint, the man was suddenly startled by a colossal blast of wind outside, worse than anything the whole winter had thrown up thus far and his old cottage rattled and creaked in shock.
With a skid his LP stopped dead and the lights went out. It was pitch black in his living room save for the nodding flames in the grate.
The man fumbled round the kitchen next-door for a candle, which he lit on the fire.
"Christ! What a wind!"
He stared cautiously outside through his window at the snowy windswept world. The mad gust had subsided but a dreadful wind remained. There were now no lights on at any of his neighbours' houses anywhere on the hillside.
"Damn it. Its a power cut! Again!"
He stoked the grate and piled new logs into the basket. It could be a long few days until the power comes back on he mused.
"This winter will be the death of us boy!" he said and smiled at his loyal dog.
With a warming cup of soup he settled back down and gave gave his pet a chew.
"Their you go old fella!"
He patted it's head and drank his hot soup staring into the enchanting flames of the hearth. They seemed to be telling him something, to keep the fire burning.
He must have fallen asleep and dreamt.
It was his dog growling that woke him up.
"What's up fella?"
The two made their way to the kitchen, where to the man's surprise the back door was ajar and the cold long Winter wind and snow were howling in.
"Christ!" he swore and pushed the door back and bolted it this time.
The dog continued to growl and padded to the bottom of the staircase staring up.
Geraint heeded his faithful dog's instincts and headed upstairs carrying his old friend. He found nothing out of the ordinary and neither did the dog.
In the morning the man woke, stretched loudly and staggered downstairs. He lit the stove for a pot of tea and fed the waiting pet, who wolfed down its dry mix in seconds.
The kettle whistled and the man stumbled back upstairs with his steaming mug, slurping along the way.
He glared into the mirror at his grizzled face and shook his head.
"Blahhh!" he complained to his own reflection.
Reaching for the soap he stopped and stared at it.
It was covered in hair. Long white hairs.
"What the ...!"
He turned the bar over and found the hair on both sides.
The man looked at the soap intently as if it explain to him directly what was going on.
He turned and picked up the bar on the bath-side.
"More!" he shouted.
Suddenly he remembered the open door the night before and ran tearing round his cottage looking for an intruder. Finding nothing upstairs he set his dog on sniffing anyone out hiding in the pantry or the woodshed. Again, they found nothing.
He finished his tea and made a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs, sharing some of the cooked rashers with his greying pet.
"You've not been rolling round in my soap have you dog?" said the man chewing on his fried bread.
"Maybe something blew in last night? A seagull or a squirrel? Its all very mysterious mutt" he puzzled stroking his old dog under the table.
The man spent the short spell of late Winter daylight splitting logs for the fire and stacking them neatly in his shed. They groaned as they settled like .... coffins! .... he thought. for some reason He shivered and stood his axe by the door, where a stooped group of snow drops were the only visible signals of a Spring that might never arrive.
That night he carried several large pans full of boiling water upstairs and filled his bath. he had cleaned his two bars of soap and was looking forward to a good hot soak before bed.
It would be days before the power's back up. The phone's were down too so he couldn't even contact the hill farm where he worked each March helping with the lambing high up on the slopes.
As he returned for one last pan-full from the hearth his dog was stood straight, hackles up and snarling at the the bottom of the stairs.
"What is it boy?"
He sprinted the steps as best he could without spilling his water and looked in two bedrooms and finally the bathroom.
Nothing.
"Its OK dog, there's nothing here. Go back to sleep by the fire. I'll be down in a bit and make us both some cocoa".
The man undressed and got into the bath. The hot water rose around him and he slid back into its comforting warmth. On the sill was a lit candle and its flame danced and flicked in the harsh wind mugging its way through the rickety window frame. A jos-stick's scented smoke curled and twitched next to it.
The aches of splitting logs oozed away from his bones and he reached for the soap. He lathered his chest and short grey hair and sang half-lines of Stairway to Heaven.
"If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now....."
He sank himself under the water to rinse his head.
"It's just a spring clean for the May ...."
He put the soap back and wiped his eyes.
The man sat bolt upright as he stared at the soap. It was sodden with long white hairs again. He touched it tentatively as if it were alive and flicked it onto the floor where it skidded to a stop.
He stood and shuddered and without taking his eyes of the hairy thing he wrapped a large bath towel around his waist and stepped out of the tub.
The man backed out of the bathroom and onto the landing.
His dog, standing at the foot of the stairs still, immediately starting barking frantically with its eyes fixed on the man.
Startled the man turned and caught a glimpse of a wavering outline in the landing mirror.
There was something clinging to his back shivering.
The man jumped with fright and his dog barked even more, trying desperately to get up the steep stairs but it was too old for the climb.
His shuddering passenger leapt off him like a bat and crouched on the landing staring at the man with a surreal intensity.
It was a svelte, green-skinned, human-like creature with incredibly long arms and legs, which were wrapped round the man.
It had long pointed ears, huge bright piercing turquoise eyes, a short nose, black lips and a thin mouth full of sharp teeth. It also had a mane of long white hair, which was draped over her back touching the floor. A sinuous tail wove to and fro through its tresses.
The being was perfectly still. Steam from the hot bath rose from its verdant limbs giving it a spirit-like form.
The man's mouth was agape. Never had he seen such a beautiful, elven thing, totally otherworldly, but somehow familiar. He wondered if it might be an alien.
All at once the wind ceased abruptly and the house stopped groaning. A ray of sunlight fired through the bathroom window and hit the creature with a bright orange beam.
It stiffened and sprang up immediately. It sniffed the air noisily. It ran to the window and gazed at the world outside licking its sharp teeth.
"It's time!" it whispered, its reflection in the mirror disappearing.
It darted down the stairs past the man and the dog and reached the back door in a second, its green features a grassy blur, its tail a gyrating asp.
Clasping the door it turned and looked at the man.
"Thankyou for keeping me!" it hissed through its gleaming fangs.
At once it ran out of the house and into the icy wastes, where its footsteps left sprigs of snowdrops and celandine exploding through the melting snow. Everywhere the sprite leapt new life erupted and the sun burst through the fading grey like magma as the first lambs screamed in the fields.
The man flexed in his towel and the puzzled dog panted. They both stood at the door and looked out onto this green season, a spellbinding cauldron of rising sap and hot blood unfolding in the wake of the growling spirit as it searched for the dying Winter, teeth bared, hungry for its final breath.
It was Spring.
At last.
Line rings
*
Hello, is that Steinheim? Swanscombe here.
Yes, its Steinheim Swanscombe.
Steinheim, we've found something. Something immensely important.
What is it Swanscombe?
It looks like a new burial chamber. Neanderthal I think.
How many corpses?
Hard to tell. At least four. Two adults and two children. Completely intact. But ..
What is it Swanscombe?
There's lots of other loose bones around the family.
What are they?
Human.
Human? In the chamber?
Yes. Individual bones and skulls scattered around the floor.
What kind of skulls Swanscombe?
They look .... modern!
Modern? What do you mean?
Not Neanderthal.
Not?
No. They're smashed too. Large holes have been made in the skulls.
Swanscombe, you must be mistaken. No modern corpses could be there if you've just discovered the chamber.
I don't think we have.
What? What do you mean Swanscombe?
I don't think we've discovered this chamber. I think someone else was here before us.
How do you know?
The scattered bones and skulls.
What about them?
They discovered the chamber.
That can't be Swanscombe. You're wrong.
I don't think so Steinheim. There are tools.
Tools?
Yes, hand tools.
Of course there are! Neanderthal tools.
No. Modern ones. Trowels and ..... hammers.
Swanscombe, don't move anything else. I'm coming over by plane. I'll be there by Midnight.
You don't need to. I can handle it.
Swanscombe, I'm coming.
Wait, something's moving.
Moving? What?
One of the hammers. It's rising and coming out of the shadows.
Swanscombe, what's happening?
OH MY GOD! One of the adults. It's alive!
Swanscombe, that's impossible! Stop joking around!
PLEASE! PLEASE NO! STEINHEIM!
Swanscombe!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
[bone breaking sounds]
SWANSCOMBE!
[eating sounds]
SWAAAANSCOOOOOMBE!
[grunting sounds]
*
Line goes dead.
Kranker was sat near the bar drinking a beer.
It was a dark winter's night, which knocked on the door and rattled the frame.
"Hello".
The man startled Kranker, who spilled his drink.
"Oh I'm terribly sorry! Let me help you".
The man began to dab at the wetness on Kranker's shirt.
"Stop that! I'll do it myself thankyou!"
"Well at least let me buy you another drink"
"Fine. I'll have another glass of beer"
The man went to the bar and got two frothy pints. He tipped something into Kranker's.
"There you go!"
"Thank you"
"Sorry about the shirt"
"Forget it. I'm Kranker"
"Schlinker"
He held out his hand and they shook.
"What do you do Kranker?"
"I'm a pet control warden"
"Really! So you catch strays then?"
"Yes. Stray dogs mostly but also cats, guinea pigs. Even snakes!"
"Snakes! Well I never. How about that. Such a small world"
"How do you mean?"
"Well, you're a stray snake catcher and I'm a ..... snake charmer"
"A snake charmer?"
"Yes, I'm part of the Circus that's just arrived in town"
"Circus eh, I used to love going to the circus when I was a kid"
"Oh its not just for kids. We get many adults coming to the circus nowadays. My own act is very popular with grown men because its so terrifying"
"Terrifying? Why's that?"
"Well, its because I charm what is probably the biggest snake in the world. Its a forty foot long boa constrictor and is really quite frightening. It really draws in the crowds"
"Forty feet long! That's a proper monster!"
"Yes, its a freak really. Most likely a Titanoboa that's somehow re-evolved from other massive snakes"
"What on earth do you feed it on?"
"Well its a problem really. We need large animals like cows or horses, which we kill and keep frozen in a huge chest freezer"
"Does it like frozen animals?"
"Well, in the wild it would eat live prey naturally but with current legislation as it is we can't do that. It would make a great spectacle though, in the circus!"
"It sounds incredible. Forty feet long. I would love to see that."
"Really? You wouldn't be scared?"
"Oh no. I've caught a few large snakes in my time and it would be just so cool to see something that big. As long as I don't have catch it!"
"Of course not!" chuckled Schlinker, " and I'm sure I could get you in the Circus's final night tonight if you really want to see it."
"That would be great!"
"Well, just follow me then. I'm going over there right now."
Kranker followed Schlinker to the Circus marquee at the edge of town. It was in complete darkness. Schlinker checked his watch.
"Perfect. It's feeding time. You'll get to see it all Kranker."
"Fabulous. I can't wait!"
Kranker was feeling a little drowsy for some reason and began to stagger a little.
"Just through here."
Schlinker pulled back a canvas door and the two men walked into a pitch black space.
"Just up here Kranker. You go in and I'll just reach in here and turn the light on."
Schlinker leaned into an alcove and grabbed hold of something long. He flicked the switch.
Immediately the space was filled with bright light and there was raucous applause from what seemed like a thousand people sat round a huge Circus ring.
"Wha - what's going on Schl - Schlinker?"
"I told you Kranker, you'll get to see it all, up close and personal."
Schlinker revealed a long shafted pitch fork and he began to viciously prod Kranker into the ring.
"As I said, its bleeding time!" bellowed Schlinker to the crowd who roared in appreciation.
"Titano is starving!" Kranker yelled and prodded Schlinker once more, this time drawing blood as he shambled into the centre of the circle to the loud applause of an exclusive crowd.
"What the hell are you doing Schlinker?"
"I'm feeding the snake Kranker and you are its food! Come, the town's elite are waiting!"
"For God's sake Schlinker, I beg you! This is insanity!"
"You mean for God's Snake Kranker!" Schlinker laughed as he stuck the fork's tines deep into the man's arm.
Kranker screamed in pain as the shackled Titano reared up high above him, its massive mouth stretched wide and its colossal fangs drooling venom.
The hapless victim froze and stared in horror at the leviathan towering over him. He struggled to wipe the drool from his eyes.
Schlinker whipped up the crowd. They were now on their feet and the snake master demanded a drum roll off them. From the rattle of jewellery and drumming an excited chorus for Titano sprang up.
"Titano, Titano!"
Greedy for one last scream before it struck, Schlinker lunged at Kranker once again with his fork.
Suddenly Kranker grabbed its two prongs, the sharp tips piercing his palms. Despite his sedation, he pulled with all his might.
Kranker fell backwards and dragged Schlinker into the centre just as Titano's head was descending rapidly to devour its prey.
The bewildered snake charmer looked up, shielded his face and shrieked in terror.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
Titano swallowed Schlinker whole, its long fangs piercing his face as his body slid down its giant throat with a shlurpp!
The crowd were momentarily stunned but then applauded the gruesome twist, clapping wildly in the aisles as the beast retreated to its high shackles beneath the roof, digesting the still-conscious Schlinker in the dark of the ring-top.
From this black apex the grim loud sound of bones snapping could be heard.
The expensive crowd gasped but then bayed with pleasure despite the obvious agony unfolding above them.
Kranker, bleeding badly, slunk out of the tent past the flustered ring-master, who was holding a paint brush.
Outside he passed a hastily-made sign.
"Vacancy! Snake Charmer! Apply Within!"
Echt Stark was the apple of his parents' eye.
Echt gave their life meaning.
They would do anything for him.
Born under a grey steely sky, the boy Echt slipped into the world and two became three.
The three who would face the world together.
Echt grew up in a cocoon of love and affection. His parents encouraged him to seek knowledge and understanding through all the media available, which Echt did. TV, video, cinema, theatre, books and music were the lectern of his mind.
But above all he loved comics and could not get enough of the heroic antics of his favourite characters. Echt worshipped their ways, their costumes and their powers.
He wished more than anything that he himself had super powers and set about making his mind and body the very best they could be. He would train his brain and muscles to become the equal of Olympians and more.
His parent's encouraged him to tone his physique and channel his mind to find the answers to the world's biggest questions. Yes they were a little worried about pushing him but Echt was a born hero.
He began to perform random acts of kindness and courtesy around the town. He solved some problems. He rescued cats from trees, mowed lawns for free, swept tons of leaves for elderly neighbours and there were rumours he had done much more daring, more sensational feats.
With local applause ringing in his ears, the boy's love of comics grew and so did his love of his favourite heroes.
He adored the way they moved with confidence and prowess, their ability to turn heads and stop crowds with their grand gestures. Above all he loved their one-knee, fist on the ground landings.
There was something about this manoeuvre that captured his imagination like no other.
He stared in astonishment at the finesse with which his heroes did it and the heights from which they came to land. The heroic landing was the very epitome of their fabulous moves, its awesome swoosh the zenith of their swagger.
Echt wanted nothing more than to master it.
He put himself through a brutally rigourous programme of athletics, gymnastics, callisthenics, bushido, savate, hapkido, trapeze, wrestling and many other physical regimes and disciplines.
By the age of ten he was one of the world's greatest gymnasts and acrobats and people came from miles around to see him tumbling and rolling like, well ...one of his comic heroes.
His parents encouraged him to reach ever greater swishes and swirls, although they harboured some secret guilt about driving him on.
Echt trained harder and harder.
Eventually he announced that he was ready to attempt his own heroic landing.
He had leapt from buckets, from boxes, from crates, from wooden horses, from chairs, from tables and from the tops of boulders. Like a diver he was increasing the height from which he landed on one knee, with one fist down and a huge cape billowing in the wind, the applause from his adoring fans charging his sinews to ever greater feats.
Echt announced to his parents that he was going to perform a grand landing that coming weekend. He would leap from the balcony of the town's museum and land on the civic plaza below.
They begged him not to do this but he assured them that he was ready. His body was ready and people would talk forever of his majestic act. His parents relented and the big day came round.
It was a sunny Saturday. The blue sky was almost cloudless and people were wearing T-shirts and shorts. Everyone was having a good time and when midday came around a sizable crowd had gathered around the sides of the plaza. High noon.
Echt could see the townsfolk below and hear their encouraging trills. At the very front were his devoted parents.
He had already decided that morning to jump from a much higher part of the museum. The lower balcony was just too low for anyone to remember it. He need altitude if this landing was the legend he wanted it to be. He needed it to be as legendary as the divine flourishes of his heroes.
Echt stepped into the daylight on the very top balcony of the old museum, a height of at least fifty feet from the plaza floor.
The crowd gasped and his parents staggered with disbelief. they held their hands over their mouths in horror at the sight of their beloved son teetering on the edge so far above them. He had clearly lost his mind.
The boy looked at the people way below him and then stared into the sky. He thought of those airy citadels, where wondrous beings dwell in the clouds and of glorious capes swooshing in the hazy sunlight as they made their descent.
He thought of all this and jumped.
The throng was silent as Echt shot downwards, his own cape fluttering in the rare air like a victory flag. He looked wonderful, a sacred youngling caught in the bright rays of the sun.
After a few sinuous twists and rolls, it only took a couple of seconds and Echt was nearing the ground. He assumed the landing pose he had practised a million times, the heroic god-like posture of his comic idols.
He landed.
The first bones to shatter were his knuckles and knees. Next were his legs, his pelvis, his right arm and eventually his back as the shock wave ravaged his young body.
Echt crumpled like a paper bag, broken beyond repair.
His parents picked him up, a brittle wretch. Their hot tears of agony drenched his closed eyes.
They opened and he whispered a single word to them.
"Sorry!"
It took countless hospital operations to piece together the shards of his hundred fractures. Many steel rods were inserted. But nothing could be done for his back. He would be without movement for the rest of his days.
His parents cared for him as best they could. He was grateful to them.
But his spirit had gone, his divine ambitions. Where was the billow of his cape in the light, where was the head held high? No cheering, no clapping, just sadness and sobbing.
Echt was a thing to be avoided. To be passed quickly without a glance. To be crossed over the road for. His tragedy was everyone's and their guilt was the indelible mark of the age.
Years faded and the boy became a man-thing of sorts. He got older but could not move to be any age. He just sat staring at rotting comics in the boiling conservatory, where his parents left him all day and every day.
He stared at the distant healing sun and wanted to kneel in its golden flare one more time.
Echt shuffled off his sofa and fell to the floor. With excruciating pain he grated his clicking limbs into something like the one-knee landing he had dreamt of all those years before on the high balcony of the museum.
His hospital blanket shivered on his back as he looked at the fiery orb beyond the sky and he screamed.
It was a scream of a thousand pains and a single joy for the boy he left behind on that terrible day.
Echt closed his eyes for the last time. His final wishes were scrawled on the comic book by his side.
His parents looked on and wept for the son they had lost.
It felt like they would weep for an eternity and extinguish the light in this world.
They mourned but followed their son's wishes to the letter.
That night by the thick cover of darkness they took Echt's stiffening body to the plaza. They had hired a cement mixer and it met them there.
As instructed Echt was positioned precisely on the stone flags. Rigor Mortis had set in completely.
When all was ready the cement was poured. Just enough to cover their boy. His parents looked at him with pride and sadness one last time and left.
In the morning crowds gathered. There was a new statue in the plaza. A man on bended knee, his cape flying and his fist touching the ground like a hero.
The crowds stared, looked up to the sky and knew who he was.
Kneeling in the exact same spot where he'd landed from the top balcony those many years ago here he was again.
Echt Stark.
Forever.
The craft course was in a beautiful rambling country pile in rural Nottinghamshire.
It was a gorgeous Sunday. The September light promised that summer's end was still some way off. The air was clear and a warm breeze blew through the estate.The vast container ship Eighth Wonder had never registered its voyage. Chartered by the Hong Kong triads it had been fictitiously logged in Africa as carrying tonnes of Halloween costumes, harlequin hats and animal dummies under the owner name of Mr. Tom Foolery.
However, having left the port of Casablanca in fine conditions it had met with a rare typhoon and was blown terribly off-course.
On the third night it was now hopelessly lost and listing badly in the mounting waves. Despite its massive size the tidal waves teetered over its cargo like the hands of God.
Then the hands struck. Colourful containers began to fall into the North Sea. First one, then dozens, all colliding with each other in the gigantic metal fury of the storm in the pitch blackness of night.
Locks popped, latches blew and doors released their true contents into the sea.
Apes.
Hundreds of live apes destined for the illicit and cruel practises of Triad medicine men and dealers.
No more.
These apes were destined for Runswick Bay a nautical mile away, which lay asleep on the misty Yorkshire coast.
Shaking off sedatives given in port, they now swam.
A thousand apes swam through the surge like the dawn of sentience. On and on they swam; gorillas, mandrills and chimpanzees desperate to reach the lights glimpsed through the angry water. They swam without making any noise. Many unwittingly wore fools' caps and jesters' curled slippers.
Bedraggled, scared, starving and lethal, they dragged themselves up onto the beach. Some had been sadly lost to the depths but most succeeded.
Far away on the churning waves the Far Eastern vessel sailed on without its load, the corrupt Captain forced into maydaying the local Coast Guard but the radio appeared dead, the bitter irony not lost on him in his hour of greatest need.
The apes themselves assembled on the sand and took one last look out to sea at their former prison. Then they turned towards the dim lights of the village swaying in the strong cyclonic winds.
It was three in the morning and nothing so much as breathed in the bay battened down for the night's fretful tempest.
The gorillas lead, followed by the mandrills and the chimps. They ran across the beach, up the harbour rampway and into the village, where they spread out in search of food and water.
A huge gorilla broke into the kitchen of the Royal Hotel, where a young man, Maitland, was on a writer's retreat for the summer attempting to pen a horror novel.
He was the first person to see an ape that night, the massive Silverback raiding the Hotel's fruit store. Maitland had needed a late night coffee from the maker to keep him awake during a fertile run of typing.
"OH MY GOD!" he shrieked as he confronted the massive primate, who was startled as he was. The ape crashed through the front double-doors into the night clutching bananas and sweetcorns.
Maitland was stunned and after drinking a whisky from the bar he went to wake the manager.
The second and last person to see an ape was Mrs. Darrow as she was peeling potatoes for the early shift of Darrow's Chippy. She screamed to high heaven when the Mandrill stared at her through the pantry window. At first she thought it was someone in fancy dress with a painted face but then she realised it was an ape she'd seen on Life on Earth on the telly. She screamed anyway and shifted it up a gear when the creature walked in and grasped her sack of spuds before shambling off up the cliff steps.
Every house and store were burgled that night but only fruit and veg were taken. Only two people had seen the primate burglars but nobody believed them. Yes, some things had been meddled with like a human skull in the schoolroom cabinet and the holy water in the Church font had been drunk and other things ripped up like a Steiff monkey in the giftshop window, but beyond these and a few random fruit skins the majority of Runswick Bay woke up none the wiser.
As the apes gathered above the bay to eat in peace a sudden noise could be heard in the far distance. It was a strange sound and only audible to the apes. A few dogs in moorland farms yelped but it was the apes who heard it fully.
Having eaten they raised their heads in the direction of the sound and began to follow it over the moors and valleys, a caravan of refugees drawn to its irresistible promise.
At last they reached the source of the drone.
The animals gathered around three towering white balls standing erect on the bleak moor. They encircled the structures, craning their necks to see the origin of the summons at the peaks of the spheres.
Some chimpanzees became agitated and tried to climb the balls' slick surfaces but to no avail. They slid off and landed on their compatriots. The company became restless until a single Silverback showed them how to grasp the steel webbing crisscrossing the massive orbs. Once at the summit the rest followed and clasped the big pinions circling the tops, waving their arms and bellowing loudly into the night from the roof of the world on what was the Fylingdales RAF Radar Station.
Suddenly the incredible scene was brightly floodlit and gargantuan netting was thrown over the apes, pinning them to the dome. Countless hypodermic darts were fired and the throng were quickly sedated and lowered into immense trucks.
By the morning the assembly were safely stowed with official passages to Africa in a huge operation to return them to the wild, much to the irritation of the Hong Kong Triads.
The classified report into the incident, codenamed DENHAM, included reference to a mayday call getting through and an elite unnamed squad being sent in to rescue the apes under the cover of darkness. The report made it clear that the villagers of Runswick Bay, North Yorkshire, must remain unaware of the events of that night, a matter of National Security.
The two residents who had had confirmed encounters with the subjects were 'rectified' with a story of a stag 'jesters' party gone awry, but after some hostility they were sworn to silence under the Official Secrets Act.
But Maitland and Darrow knew what they'd seen and can still be found secretly leaving fruit and veg out on dark stormy nights in the hope that the mysterious apes might return.
It reeled against the rocks to no avail.
It knew its crescendos were useless on the harsh lime cliffs protecting the lands.
Like a prison wall it railed and wailed upon it, feverish, ashen, devilish, outraged.
The white walls had stood for eons long and would remain so but for man's new corruptions.
It sensed a change in the oceans, a glimmer of adjustment, a smidgeon of newness.
It knew the weather and the seasons and the clouds and the currents and the air above.
But it knew not the land.
Oh! the sweet land and its mysterious loafing creatures. It had tasted them on the seas, devoured them in the waves, tipped them from containers and slurped them from the depths.
Delicious walking whelks, soft and slippery, how rare a delectation, how scarce a mouthful; what medleys of flesh it could savour, what dishes of skin it could suck; the marrow of its millions could soothe its salted maw.
Yes, a change is occurring. The seas are rising. The air is scorched by these very things it dreams of eating, these corrosive minds, these babbling snails. The worm has warmed.
It can slowly finger the poisons caking the sky, the effluence of the creatures on the solid land, their virulent slurry swirling round its pelagic home and the mangled skies above.
The Lord of the Oceans cursed it at the start of time. It's tidal remand to last forever till the seas claim the mountains, whence it will be free to roam beyond its bounds and harvest what it finds.
Now a ghost of its splendid once-was, it pounds the scarps with massive claws; drumming the seductive geology warmed by the sunlight.
It yearns to stretch on the fertile fields and relax its encrusted joints, dried by the solar winds at long long last; after a million millennia it will walk in the sun and eat soft unsalted men.
Ah! it can gauge the filling of the abyssal plain, the escalation of the tides and the water kissing the lips of nations. The seas are ascending and it rises with them, treading water before the cliffs, reaching out and sniffing the intoxicating sap of the billion waving trees.
It will be brief , its dry orgy of sweet bloods. The Ocean Lord will be hastening, his urge to turn the table strong. The Monarchs of the Land have walked long enough. It will be time for the rivers to smile as the vast floods of the seas converge atop the bony crust.
It will feed quickly and empty the continents of its meat, its colossal herds of walkers brimming with sloshing goodness. No more the sleazy fish snot, no more the saline guts and brackish heads scratching his blue palette.
It's here. The change is come. The seas lap the grassy edge and it clambers cautiously out of its indigo dungeon, a gigantic ghostly being crawling out of the fish-stuffed brew.
It lifts its titanic heads and noses the virgin sky stroking the hardness.
Mmmm! Such perfumes of pumping hearts, saccharin, ferrous, electrified; a buffet of marrowbone and fountains of blood to wade in and slurp.
And so to start! Let the feeding begin!
