The sun was high in the sky when Ashley reached the highest point on the hill. It had been a good idea to set out early with a wind and waterproof jacket, and good trekking boots. Now, the valley opened in front of him, dotted with a few coloured cottages and grazing cattle. He felt rewarded after walking for hours: to be on his own for a while was something he needed badly. The compass Helen had given him as a present pointed to the west. He sat down, taking a deep breath.
The cows bent their neck in the sun, unaware of being observed, at ease in their glen. Ashley loved to watch them: he sat down, opening his hands to touch the ground and half-closed his eyes. Now the cows were blurred, brown and white patches on the green meadows. A flustering voice seemed to call him, whispering in his ears, lulling him into dozing. He stretched out on the grass, with the canopy of the sky crowning the invisible, airy shapes of his regrets.
If only he had told her what she meant to him. He had always assumed that she knew anyway. She used to say he was like a strutting peacock; he liked himself better than anybody else. Certainly, she said it half-jokingly, poking at him with her fingers and laughing heartily. And yet, he was afraid it was true. The point was he was self-reliant, that was it… Was it? Anyway, he had made his way into the world and… a large drop landed on his forehead, soon followed by others.
The sun got completely covered with clouds and it started to pour. He went down the white path he had seen before. The slope was rather gentle, and the meandering path led him to a small tholtan: he was already soaked when he went inside. The stone walls offered a good shelter from the momentum of the storm. The wind was slashing all around like a powerful whip.
It was amazing how quickly the weather could change on the island. He had forgotten that. Despite the darkness, Ashley could make out the shape of some strange objects on a table. He looked around and noticed how the tholtan looked less forlorn than from the outside. It must have belonged to somebody, but the wooden door had been left unlatched. A large blade knife with an enamelled handle and an old manuscript lay on the worn-out table. He opened it but could not make out the words. It looked like an obscure language: neither German, nor French. And the knife. Look at the size. It must be an antiques lover's.
Suddenly, the door banged open, and a figure cloaked and hooded in green came in. Ashley was taken aback and, although he could not see the newcomer’s face, started to apologize:
“I hope you will excuse me. I saw it was open and thought I could take shelter here for a while, just until it stops pouring like hell. My name is Ashley Seymour, by the way.”
The newcomer did not answer, nor took the hand Ashley was offering him, but came nearer and uncovered his head. His piercing green eyes went through Ashley’s very bones.
“Stranger, you are not welcome here. You impinge upon the sacredness of this place; therefore, you must be punished.”
His voice came out of him as if out of a tomb. He grasped the knife on the table and rushed towards Ashley.
“Please,” Ashley said with a stutter, “let’s be calm and serious…”
“I am deadly serious,” said the other with a sinister grin, “and you are in big trouble.”
Ashley could hardly believe what was happening, he started babbling now in terror, as the other had no intention of listening to his apologies, and pointed the blade at his throat.
How grotesque that he should die so, almost resigned to his fate. The unreasonable man had a blank face with big green eyes and brown curls. He looked slightly familiar to Ashley, who closed his eyes waiting for the end. But the stranger put the blade in his mouth and tied Ashley’s hands with a rope. Ashley was even more surprised now. This man was mad: he wanted neither his money, nor his precious camera.
He pushed Ashley to the ground and tied his feet too.
“I’ll teach you a lesson. Now, listen carefully.”
Ashley wanted to scream, but knew the place was so forlorn that nobody would hear him.
“You think I am crazy, and that you don’t deserve what it’s happening to you. But you are wrong. You people think you can buy everything with your money, but you are hollow little puppets, afraid of yourselves. You deserve to die, and yet, I won’t kill you straight away. When the time comes, I will behead you. If you want to live, you must die first, to shed your skin like a serpent, and dance in the rhythm of life.”
For God’s sake, what was he raving about? Was this a joke? Ashley swallowed his saliva, he saw there was no point in trying to answer the man. He could not find anything to say that would sooth him. The guy did not seem to be the type who enjoyed weather conversations. He was beyond himself and rolled his eyes backwards, as he repeated an incomprehensible chant again.
Ashley would have prayed, if only had he believed it would work, but he was no mystic. It sounded more like ranting than a proper chant. Ashley did not doubt the man’s intention to behead him. The tension inside made his eyes swell with tears, and before he realized it, he was sobbing in terror.
The man stopped his ranting and exclaimed:
“Here you are! Yes, cry for your poor self and realize you have lived in ignorance of the higher laws! I will see you again, do not doubt.”
As he said so, he wrapped himself in his cloak and rushed outside of the tholtan in the evening mist.
Was he really gone? Or would he come back? Ashley had to get free and run away as fast as the wind, but for a few moments he could not believe he was still alive and felt dazed. He managed to crawl towards a sharp stone that was at the opposite end of the tholtan and, by rubbing his wrists against it repeatedly, he set his hands free, then his feet. In the meanwhile, there were no tracks of the mysterious man.
When Ashley ran outside, it was late evening. Luckily though, he had a little torch with himself and, because of fear he would meet the madman again, he ran all the way downhill back to the car park. Once in his car, he sighed with relief and, while starting the engine, he thought about the man’s appearance and words. Who was he? And why did he look familiar? His talk struck a cord of terror inside him: self-doubt and fear of himself. How could that stranger possibly know his innermost fears? Should he report the case to the police? He wanted to make himself comfortable with the idea that he had stumbled upon a madman, but deep inside he felt uneasy. He had said they would meet again, and he would behead him. Maybe, he should buy a gun, so if it ever happened that they should meet again, he would be able to defend himself. Maybe. Or maybe he was worrying about something that had no chances to be: he was now driving back to Douglas and that savage did not have the appearance of a town dweller. He knew he had been lucky. However, that night, once in his room, he kept the lamp switched on and slept fitfully.