Flux

an empty table in the bay widow.
    “Thanks,” taking her cue and seating himself while she went to the bar.
    “What do you want?”
    He asked for a pint of lager, good for quenching the thirst he’d built over the morning and had been so disappointed not to have had when finding the pub locked and deserted.
    While waiting for Eve to return with the drinks, Iain glanced from the window to the churchyard. The angel once again faced the road, or more to the point, it looked directly at him. Afraid to look, he averted his eyes by looking at the side of the church. The gargoyles adorning the wall, although at a distance no longer appeared quite so worn down by the elements; in fact they appeared as pristine as the very day they were carved, their surfaces smooth and shiny rather than pitted and dull; almost appearing as scales rather than stone.
    As he stared, one leapt from the wall.
    Iain jumped from his seat; seeing ghosts which didn’t acknowledge the presence of the beholder is one thing, but gargoyles and stone angels coming to life is quite another. He was about to run, although he didn’t know where to, when Eve retuned with the drinks.
    “Everything OK?” she asked, placing Iain’s pint down on the table.
    “Fine,” he replied.
    Act normal. Shit, shit. Act normal for fuck’s sake.
    But they’re going to get you.
    No they’re not. You’re strong.
    Shit!
    Stay strong Iain. Stay strong.
    “Are you sure everything’s OK?” Eve asked again. “You seem a little jittery?”
    “Yes, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
    They finished their drinks almost in silence, Iain downing his in only three or four swift gulps, all the while scanning the churchyard for the missing gargoyle. Noticing that Eve had a soft drink he asked, “So, are you driving?” The thought of walking home alone was now too terrifying to contemplate.
    “Yes I am. Would you like a lift?"
    “Love one!”
    As they travelled the short distance back to town in Eve’s battered red Skoda, Iain stared from the passenger window, seeing ghosts everywhere. He wished he could tell someone, he really did but instead sat in silence until reaching his flat and saying goodbye.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
    Geography

    On his way in the door, the post still sat on the mat. Without looking to see what it was or who it was from Iain picked it up and threw it onto the ever-growing pile with the rest before making his way up the creaking stairs to his flat. The gargoyle played heavily on his mind, its presence escalating matters to a whole new level. Had he imagined it? He didn’t think so.
    Going directly to the window, he pulled the curtains back to peer out from behind them, disturbing a magpie perched on the ledge outside. It took off with a loud flapping of wings. Outside on the street, all appeared as it should do apart from the ever-increasing number of apparitions. He could tell them from the living as they showed themselves in subtle pastel shades, almost translucent, but not quite. The boundaries between the worlds of the living and the dead were thinning and more and more were slipping through. He sensed he was running out of time.
    A sigh of relief left his lips when the gargoyle wasn’t sitting on the pavement below. He’d half expected it to see it looking up at him as he looked down and couldn’t shake the image from his mind.
    The phone rang from where he’d left it on the arm of the chair, making him jump. After three rings, it beeped shrilly to indicate the battery running out. Thankful for it falling silent, he left it where it was, not bothering to find the charger. Instead he went to the TV and turned it on before pacing back to the window with remote control in hand.
    The set only projected more images of destruction and violence: People chanting: being shot at: lying dead in pools of blood.
    Where the fuck is Yemen anyway?
    Going to his bedroom, he rummaged under the bed for a poster sized map of the world he knew was there somewhere. Finding it tucked away right at the back, he fished it out, pleased that it only had a few crumples and creases and all the political divisions of the world were still clearly visible. He didn’t know whether all the borders and countries were still correct, having owned the map since he was a child, but it would more than do for his purposes.
    Turning off the TV, he’d seen enough for now, he instead put on the radio before going into the cupboard, on which the hi-fi sat, to retrieve some push pins,