part0006

Brendan watched the steam rising from the kettle, as the orange power light switched itself off. In his mind, he could hear it whistling, just like it had in his grandma’s old tin kettle when he was a child. The memory made him smile, taking him away for a moment, but the glint of the knife in his hand brought him immediately back to the present.

“No sugar in mine, please, Bren,” Milo called from the living room. His voice sounded the same as it always had, which made Bren’s skin crawl.

“All right,” Brendan called back, gripping the knife tightly and glancing towards the door that would take him into the room the voice had come from. Milo always used to take sugar. One more thing that had changed. One more way in which Brendan didn’t really understand who he was married to anymore.

“You’re missing the film. Should I go back a scene?” Milo’s voice came again.

“No, I’m coming in now,” Brendan replied. He looked at the knife in his hand and closed his eyes for a moment.

The cottage that greeted the two men, as they walked up the stone path, was not at all what they’d been expecting. The advertisement had said it needed work, which was to be expected for a property as old as this, but on the outside, at least, it looked perfect. No collapsed windows, no loose roof tiles, no visible rot or decay on the brickwork. The garden was a little overgrown, and weeds had started sneaking their way through the gaps in the stones beneath their feet, but these things were easily tended. Cosmetic fixes, nothing structural.

“What do you think, Bren?” Milo asked, as they looked up at the cottage.

“It’s nice. Beautiful, even,” Brendan replied.

“I sense a ‘but’…”

“I’m just holding off my excitement until we see the inside. There might be a gaping hole where the floor’s meant to be.”

“Always Mr.Cynical, aren’t you?”

“Mr. Realistic. Remember that last place? Seemed perfect, until we turned the taps on, and that lovely brown juice dribbled out.”

“You’re right, that was a lesson learned, but we have to have sensible expectations. If we’re wanting an old property with some history and character to it, as we discussed, then we need to have sensible expectations. Of course, that will also mean there will be faults—little ones, or even big ones—that a new build just wouldn't suffer from.’

“Like a big gaping hole in the floor?” Brendan suggested, earning him a playful elbow jab to the ribs .

“Sorry about that gentlemen, just another client,” the accompanying estate agent explained as he walked over, placing his phone in his back pocket.

“Are you fake-phone-calling us?” Brendan laughed.

“I’m sorry?” said the agent, looking genuinely perplexed.

“Pretending to get a call from someone else interested in the property to make us just a bit more eager?”

“Erm…no, that genuinely was a client, but not about this property.”

“Ignore him,” Milo insisted. “He’s a bit jaded; we’ve been screwed over a lot on this little journey to becoming home owners.

“Understandable,” the agent smiled. “There are some snakes out there, and it makes my job that much harder. But no, I assure you my firm doesn’t play any games like that. There’s a degree of integrity that we like to maintain, but besides that, the regulatory bodies are on us like sharks since the 2008 Crash. We put a foot wrong, and we can get both fined and sued, then end up paying out more in compensation than we do in shareholder dividends.”

“Good to know,” Brendan said with a smile, earning him another jab to the ribs.

“Shall we go inside?” suggested the agent, opening the door.

“That’ll plane off easily enough,” Milo commented, noticing how the door jammed a little upon opening.

“Ah yes, the previous owner put this new wooden floor in, but then, didn’t adjust the doors quite enough. There’s lots of little things like that here and there, which is what you get when someone tries to fix up a house to sell it. Everything’s done in a rush to sell, rather than at a leisurely pace, for your own pleasure.”

“Why did they sell? This place is beautiful,” Brendan commented, noticing the open-plan living room with dark, wooden floors. Alongside, was a door to the kitchen and a short hallway leading to the bedrooms and bathroom.

“Old age, to be honest. A place like this, as I’m sure you can appreciate, has a lot of years in it. Things will go wrong that you wouldn’t get with a new flat, or something in the cities,” explained the agent, almost repeating Milo’s own words. “The owner lived alone, and he just couldn’t take care of the house, anymore. So, he had as much fixed up as he could, then put it up for sale. He’s with relatives, but he wants the house sold, so he can move to a place of his choosing.”

“It’s cheaper than I’d have expected.”

“That’s because he wants it sold quickly. He’s not greedy, and he knows selling to anyone in a property chain would take longer. So we advised to sell a little lower, and it would then appeal to first time buyers, like yourselves.”

The agent led them through the house: showed them the bathroom, kitchen and the impressive, if overgrown, garden outside. The master bedroom was bigger than either of them were used to, and the guest bedroom was perfect for visitors.

“Oh, Bren, I think I’m falling in love,” Milo gushed.

“I know, it’s pretty perfect, isn’t it? ”

A knock came at the front door, followed by a cheery “hello”, as an older couple let themselves in. Brendan guessed they might be in their early sixties.

“Don’t mind us, we’re the neighbours. I’m Jonathan, and this is Judy. We thought we’d come and say hello. I know what it’s like buying a new home; who you might be living next to can be a big factor in the decision, so we thought we’d come and show you we weren’t monsters or anything.”

Brendan smiled. “That’s nice of you, thank you. I’m Bren, and this is Milo, my husband.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Jonathan shook both their hands firmly. “If you decide to settle in Sonnes Hill, Judy here will, no doubt, make you her famous chocolate cake as a welcome present. Not that I’m trying to persuade you, or anything.”

“That sounds great. Neither of us can bake at all, to be honest,” Milo beamed.

“It’s a dying art, but that TV show just might get people baking again,” said Judy.

“I’ve got to say, you guys aren’t quite, erm…that is, we were worried that…” Bren fumbled over his words.

“Oh, I get it,” said Jonathan, with a wry smile, turning to look at his wife, then giving her a playful wink. “You thought that, in a little old country village like this, we’d all be a bunch of old-fashioned types, who hate anyone who wasn’t a straight, white, church-going couple? ”

“Well, ‘hate’ is a strong word, but basically, yes,” Bren replied, his cheeks flushing.

“Ha! Well, relax, you’re fine. We’re not that type of village. In point of fact, those villages die out. People stop going to visit, stop moving there, and they dry up and decay. We’re all about change and renewal, and frankly you won’t find anyone here who cares about race, or sexuality, or anything like that.”

“That’s mighty refreshing. Mixed-race, gay couple welcomed into little English village. It should be a news article,” Milo commented, then turned to Bren. “So, are we going to put an offer in, or what?”

“I just don’t think a modern couch, like that, would suit a home like this,” Brendan protested, as Milo held up his phone to display the furniture in question.

“Why not? The colour is neutral, it doesn’t clash with anything.”

“It’s not the colour, it’s the style - far too modern.”

“Just because this is an old cottage, doesn’t mean everything in it has to have a look of ‘grandma’s house’ about it,” Milo sighed, then winced and rubbed the left side of his head.

“Another headache?”

“They keep coming and going. I think I must be coming down with something.”

“Go and have a lie down. I’ll bring you some tea and tablets. ”

Brendan entered the kitchen and flicked the kettle on, rolling his eyes slightly at the garish, red and black design that would look more at home in a high-end, London hotel suite than it did a rural, olde-English cottage. Milo had picked it, and Bren had decided against starting an argument over something as simple as a kettle. Living room furniture, now that was different. That might well be an argument on the horizon, if Milo didn’t see sense.

“Only us!” Judy called, as she and Jonathan knocked, then opened the front door. Bren wasn’t quite used to people just coming in this way, and wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. However, these were nice people, and their neighbours, and he didn’t want to cause upset by trying to change what was, no doubt, the local custom.

“Hi, you two,” Brendan replied, walking back into the living room to greet the guests.

“Hope we’re not intruding. We just brought you that cake we promised,” said Judy, placing a large cake tin on the coffee table.

“Oh! That’s fantastic, thanks so much.”

“Where’s your husband? Is he in?”

“He’s just gone to bed for a while; he’s been a bit under the weather lately.”

“Oh, dear. Well do save him some cake, won’t you?” asked Jonathan.

“I can’t promise anything,” Brendan responded playfully.

“We wanted to invite you both to dinner tonight, if you’re interested. I know you’re probably not unpacked yet, and probably getting sick of takeaways, so thought a nice, home-cooked meal would be a bit of a treat,” Judy suggested.

“You’re an angel; that would be amazing.”

“Wonderful! Well, just come over about 6ish, and we look forward to having you over.”

“I’m taking him to the doctor’s tomorrow,” Bren explained, as he enjoyed the perfectly cooked roast beef Judy had prepared. “He won’t like it. He’ll say I’m fussing, but he’ll just have to live with it.”

“You’re right. It’s better than worrying, isn’t it?” agreed Jonathan, sitting across from Bren at the round, dark oak table.

“Jonathan is terrible about going to the doctor’s. He could have nearly lost a limb, and he wouldn’t go.”

“It’s a male pride thing,” Bren shrugged. “But, pride or not, Milo’s going to that clinic tomorrow, if I have to drag him there.”

“Does he usually suffer from headaches?” asked Judy.

“He has for as long as I’ve known him. Migraines, too, sometimes. But, lately, they’ve been getting more frequent. And this one today; he’s so out of it….I’ve never seen him that bad.”

“Hopefully, they can get to the bottom of it. He’s probably come down with something nasty. It sometimes happens when people first move house, doesn’t it?” Judy suggested .

“True, the whole thing can be quite stressful, I suppose. I think the decorating will be the most stressful of all. We can’t seem to agree on much.”

“Well, in my experience, the best way to resolve those arguments is, to nod politely, and let the woman have her way,” Jonathan teased. “I don’t really know how that works with a gay couple.”

“I’m sure Milo would love me to adopt that approach with him,” Bren laughed. “But he’s not having it all his way. I have to say, I like the carvings in the wood around your home.” As he spoke, Bren glanced at the dark oak beams on the ceiling and walls, noting the carved pictures and patterns. “Did you have those done?”

“Actually, they were here when we moved in. They tell a story, apparently. Local myths and legends, that kind of thing,” explained Judy.

“Or history, depending who you ask,” noted Johnathan.

“You see that one there?” asked Judy, pointing at a carving on the beam just above their heads, her tone slightly exasperated as if she’d been forced to point this out repeatedly in times past.

“It looks like…I don’t even know what that is. Some sort of dinosaur, or something, standing next to a man?” Bren suggested.

“Exactly. Local history, Johnathan calls it, where we have pictures of unknown beasts talking to people.”

“This is why she won’t let me answer phone-in quizzes on the radio,” Jonathan winked at Bren, his voice a pretend whisper that was more than loud enough for his wife to hear .

“There’ll be similar carvings in your house, I suspect, but they might be painted over,” said Judy.

“I’ll have to take a proper look in the daylight. I love things like that. It’ll be something to look forward to, once I get Milo back from the doctor’s.”

“Do you need us to drive you there? The roads can get quite muddy, with all the rain we’ve had lately, and we’ve got the stupid off-road thing Jonathan insisted on buying,” Judy suggested, with a slight frown in her husband’s direction.

“I think we’ll be alright, but that’s very kind of you to offer,” smiled Bren.

“Just let us know if you need anything, anything at all,” replied Judy.

“I don’t understand,” said Bren, his voice scarcely loud enough to be audible. “How can it be this bad?”

“We were late catching it. The location of the tumour meant that, for the first months of its growth, there were no symptoms. When they finally started to manifest, they didn’t appear any worse than a usual migraine, or severe headache, yet all the while, it was growing and spreading,” explained the doctor.

“You said it was inoperable?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The location of it, the way it’s attached itself, makes surgery impossible. He wouldn’t survive it. ”

“And you can’t shrink it with radiotherapy, or chemo?” asked Bren, his voice breaking.

“Again, the location, the spread…you’d be causing such severe damage, so quickly, that the fact is, it would kill him more quickly than the cancer would,” replied the doctor, sombrely.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Bren hung his head in his hands.

“We’ve already spoken to Milo, of course, but he asked that we explain it to you, rather than him.”

“How….” Bren’s voice caught in his throat, and he took a deep breath. “How long?”

“That can vary on so many things, but I think half a year might be realistic.”

“What?? Six months??” Bren cried, incredulously.

“It’s not finished growing. He’s going to get worse, his health will start to decline, rapidly now that the symptoms have begun.”

“I need to take him home,” Bren told the doctor, tears in his voice.

“I’d advise against that; with how ill he’s going to become, his best place…”

“His best place is at home, doctor. If you’re telling me he’s going to die, anyway,” answered Bren, his voice laced with anger.

“That’s his choice, and yours. If that’s what you decide, then we’ll get him discharged with whatever he needs to make him comfortable.”

Bren sat watching Milo sleep, not really able to rest, himself. These past few nights since leaving the hospital, he’d been afraid to fall asleep for more than a few hours. He was afraid that he might wake up, to find that Milo never would. Milo, himself, was trying to keep his spirits as jovial as usual—for Bren’s benefit, more than his own—but, he was clearly exhausted. Bren could see it in his eyes. Even the effort of getting out of bed, and walking around the house, was difficult for him. He seemed to have gotten rapidly worse since getting the news, and Bren wondered how much of that was psychological. Not that he judged this negatively; how could anyone not feel crushed, under the weight of such news?

Leaving Milo to sleep, Bren quietly made his way to the living room, and sat on the armchair. The room was open, and still largely empty; the two of them never having gotten around to agreeing on a couch to order. The armchair had been a recent purchase, before Milo had moved out of his flat, so it had been brought with them, and given a place in the new living room. Though it was comfortable—and Bren liked the design—as he sat stroking the fabric, he already doubted that he’d be able to keep it. Would he even stay in this house? He honestly didn’t know; he couldn’t even properly think that far ahead.

There was a gentle, quiet knock at the door. It opened very slowly, followed by Jonathan leaning his head round.

“Hello, Bren,” he whispered. “I saw the lamp on, I thought you were probably up. ”

“Can’t really sleep lately,” replied Bren, despondently.

“Of course you can’t, son,” replied Jonathan, stepping closer and putting a comforting hand on Bren’s shoulder. “I’m just going to take the dog out; she’s been a bit restless. Would you like to come for some fresh air?”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to leave him,” answered Bren, glancing back down the hallway, in the direction of the bedroom.

“He won’t know you’re gone, and we won’t be long. I have something to show you,” said Jonathan quietly, inclining his head towards the door.

Bren wanted any excuse to get out of the house, and enjoy the outdoors air, even for just a half hour. It would do him good, to see something beyond the walls of the house, and try to think of something else, for just a little while. Even for half an hour. That was why he agreed, more than any kind of curiosity about what Jonathan wanted to show him. He put on his jacket and boots, followed Jonathan outside, and quietly locked the door behind him. Jonathan’s dog, a spry-looking sheepdog, waited obediently outside on the path, wagging its tail fervently at its master’s return.

“I don’t remember seeing the dog before,” Bren remarked.

“Only got her this week; her name’s Bess. The wife wanted a new one, but I said we were too old to be messing around with training a puppy, so we got her instead.”

“That’s nice. It’s always harder to find homes for grown dogs. ”

“I’m just going to walk her up by the old marshes; I know a safe path. What I want to show you is up there, too.”

“All right,” responded Bren, agreeably.

The night was dark and still, and the cloudless sky meant that much of the ground was lit by moonlight. The torches Jonathan had brought for them both, were strong enough to help clearly light the path. Jonathan kept Bess on her leash, until they were away from the village. Once they reached the open fields, he let her run free. Bren watched the dog at play and smiled softly to himself. He and Milo had spoken about getting a dog themselves, but they wanted to finish decorating the house first. Bren wondered if everything he saw might make him feel like this now: a memory they'd never get to make

The area ahead was darker, where the ground was now swampy and growing muddier, with a few barren and twisted trees that pushed up from the ground. Bren almost lost his footing, until Jonathan grabbed his arm, pulling him back towards firm ground.

“It’s basically a bog round here; just follow me because I know the path.”

“Is Bess safe here?”

“She’s not as stupid as we are,” Jonathan pointed at the dog, who was happily, and confidently, traversing the path ahead.

“Seems an odd walking route,” observed Bren.

“You only come here with purpose, son.”

The two men walked on, now approaching something greyish-white that protruded from the marsh. At first, Bren thought they were trees, but the shape was all wrong. They looked more like bones; like the broken ribcage of something massive that had laid in the marsh, and never climbed back out.

“Is that….are they from a whale??” Bren asked, as they walked beneath one of the bizarre arches that rose above the path.

“Not exactly.” Jonathan paused for a second, and turned to Bren. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Um, sure. I guess,” responded Bren, hesitantly.
“Do you believe in God?”
“No, not at all,” frowned Bren.

“I should have anticipated that. You assumed I meant the Christian God, right? Or, the Jewish one, or whatever denomination you want to give it. Whatever colour or creed you put on it, the fact is, that people generally have a similar sort of being in mind when they say God, don’t they?” Jonathan explained. “And given your sexuality, I can see why you’d have no faith in such a being. How could you possibly find time, or love, for something that is supposedly responsible for everything in the world, and yet purportedly hates you for something you can’t change?”
“That’s about the size of it,” said Bren. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, there are other gods, you know. Older ones. And they don’t claim to be responsible for every little thing, either. That kind of belief came much later, with the Middle Eastern God. Prior to that, each god had their own little patch of land, so to speak. Maybe they’d bring rain, or wealth, or healing. ”

That last word caught Bren’s ear, as he suspected it was meant to.

“Oh…ok.” He sighed, stifling a laugh. “This is the bit where you try to convert me to some religion or other, isn’t it? I mean it’s a bold pitch, bringing me out here like this, to avoid doing it in my own home, where I can just shut the door in your face. And I appreciate that you probably think you’re genuinely helping, but…”

“Brendan, it’s all right,” Jonathan laughed. “I don’t believe in all that spiritual nonsense, either. I believe in what we can see, what we can feel. I’m just saying that there was a time, when the gods people worshipped, were just that.”

“And that’s what you believe in? Something you’ve actually seen?” asked Bren, doubtfully.

“Well, I’ve seen results, put it that way. Many around here have. We don’t usually show people as new to the village as you, but with Milo’s situation being so desperate, I couldn’t not try and help.”

“I’ll be honest with you, whatever it is you’re wanting to show me…herbs, or spring water you think is magic, or something…I’m willing to give it a go. Usually, I would just laugh in your face at something like that, but there’s quite literally, nothing medical science can do for him, so I guess that forces me to be more open. Nothing to lose, I guess,” muttered Bren, scuffing at the ground with his boot.

“No, there really isn’t, unfortunately. And, like I said, I’m not trying to convert you to anything. I just want to help. ”

“I believe you, so lead on,” Bren said, as he gestured ahead with his arm.

The path through the marsh grew more narrow, the air was getting thicker, with a hazy, greenish mist hovering in it. The water seemed to have a sort of current to it now, Bren noticed. It wasn’t a current quite like any he’d observed in still bodies of water. It was rising slightly and then falling, almost like the earth below was breathing.

“Jonathan, this place is creeping me out a little,” Bren admitted nervously.

“It did me, as well, when my father first brought me here. It’s just old, Bren. Older than anything most of us will see in our life,” stated Johnathan.

“You’re not taking me to see some giant wicker statue are you?” Bren asked suddenly, trying to use a little humor to cover his nervousness.

“Ha, no. We save that for tourists; you actually live here,” Jonathan replied, with a wink and a smile. “Although, if we’re referencing films and such, I suppose what I’m showing you is more ‘Pet Cemetery’, than it is ‘Wicker Man’.”

“You have an Indian burial ground that raises the dead?” asked Bren, incredulously.

“No, but we have a cave that heals,” said Jonathan, putting the leash back on Bess, and pointing the light from his torch at something up ahead. The beam hit a sunken stone structure with a low opening at the front. The darkness inside seemed impenetrable by their torch light .

“Erm…ok?” Bren scratched his head nervously.

“Not really clear what to say, is it? I understand. I was the same. I’d broken my arm playing on a rope swing, and my dad brought me here. I went in that cave, sat for an hour or so, fell asleep, and when I woke up my arm was fine. No pain, nothing.”

“Seriously?” Bren’s eyebrows shot up.
“Your husband is on his death bed, son. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this,” Jonathan replied, the look in his eyes every bit as sincere as the tone of his voice.

“And how do you explain it? Some sort of gases in that cave, or…” Bren’s voice trailed off in wonder.

“My father told me that there are places in this world, where the earth is older than in other places… and, in those places, we can be touched by the things that are a part of the old way. I don’t really know too much about that part; I’m a cynic like you. But real is real, and I know for sure, that I went in there with a broken arm, and came out healed,” Jonathan stated emphatically.

“And have other villagers been healed too?” asked Bren.

“It’s used sparingly. It’s not even spoken of, except by a very few,” Jonathan replied, stroking Bess, who had fixed her eyes on the cave, and started to shiver. He went on: “None of us fully understand it, and you don’t want to be abusing something like that. Enough people know about it to keep it fed with our belief, but we don’t want people coming up here each time they graze a knee or get a sniffle, “ Jonathan said, looking Bren in the eyes sternly .

“And you think, if I take Milo there…?” Bren's eyes had a hopeful, watery look to them.

“I don’t know for sure. You can’t, with things like this. But, is it worth not even trying?”

“I know exactly what he’ll say when I suggest it,” said Bren, mournfully.

“You don’t.” Jonathan shook his head. “People find faith in desperate times. Usually they put their faith in the wrong things, but they still find the need to put it somewhere.”

“What’s the process? Do I just go in there with him and…” Bren began.

“He has to go in alone, and he has to sleep. You have to wait for him to come out. That’s about it.”

“Why does he need to sleep?”

“Your mind goes elsewhere when you sleep, maybe that makes it easier to make the connection to whatever does the healing,” Jonathan suggested. “I’m not a theologian, Bren. Not an occultist or whoever else might know more about this. I was a PE teacher for years, then retired when my back couldn’t quite take it anymore. And, no, I didn’t go to the cave to fix that, before you ask. Old age isn’t a thing to cure, it just happens. But a young man dying, not long after getting his first home with his new husband…I can’t stand by and not try to prevent that,” said Jonathan, shaking his head.

“Thank you. I’ll bring him. We have to try,” Bren said firmly.

“Doesn’t hurt to try, I suppose. And when it doesn’t work, I can mock you for convincing me to sleep in a cave,” Milo replied, shivering beneath the blanket that covered his head and shoulders.

“Deal,” Bren said with a smile.

Bren looked ahead, and saw Jonathan had stopped, and was waiting for them to catch up. Milo could only manage a slow pace, but, still, he kept moving. The mid-afternoon sun made it much easier to see the safe path through the marsh, but Jonathan had still insisted on coming. That fact had actually been instrumental in getting Milo to take this even halfway seriously, as the presence of someone besides Bren, had made this seem less likely a ridiculous joke.

“I’m going to be right outside, and when you come back out I’ll be there,” Bren assured him as they approached the cave.

“What are you going to do? There’s no signal out here for your iPad,” Milo joked.

“I’m sure I’ll survive,” replied Bren, giving Milo a gentle squeeze.

The two men joined Jonathan at the mouth of the cave, the inside of which could be seen to slope gently downwards into a much wider interior .

“So I just go down there, find somewhere to sleep for a bit, and then come back out?”

“I know how it sounds,” Jonathan noted. “But we have to try.”

“Well, I’ve come this far,” Milo agreed, glancing at the cave. “Big, scary opening with a cold wind blowing from it….this must be what it’s like sleeping with Madonna.”

“You know a gay man dies every time you mock Madonna,” Bren reminded him.

“Not a fan?” Jonathan asked, smiling.

“Overrated. I much prefer GaGa.” Milo responded.

“We’re not starting this now. Get in the damn cave,” said Bren, then pulled Milo into a warm embrace and kissed him, softly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Bren and Jonathan watched Milo descend into the cave, wrapped snugly in his blanket, and taking a wrapped duvet and pillow with him. Bren clenched his fists tightly at the sight of his husband disappearing into the darkness, fighting the urge to join him.

“This can work, stranger things have happened, this can work,” he chanted under his breath.

“I’ll wait with you, if you want,” offered Jonathan.

“Thank you, that’d be nice. If I stay alone, I’ll probably lose my willpower, and run to join him in there. I don’t want to do anything that might mess up…whatever this is,” Bren declared.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me, son, it’s fine,” said Jonathan, unfolding the two collapsible chairs he’d brought .

The two men sat down, and Jonathan handed Bren a can of beer. It wasn’t his usual brand, but he wasn’t feeling particularly fussy, and was frankly glad for anything that might calm his nerves.

“You know what’s funny, is that whilst we’re here, this whole thing seems a little less mad,” admitted Bren.

“I know what you mean. If someone tells you something like this, whilst you’re standing in the middle of a city, with all the trappings of the modern world around you, it couldn’t seem more ludicrous. But here, now, it seems that little bit more possible, with the old world surrounding us out here.”

“I’m willing to accept anything that might make him well,” said Bren in all seriousness.

“Good. Then, once he’s home safe, you can help me build that Wicker Man,” remarked Johnathan.

“As long as you don’t mind my shoddy craftsman skills,” chuckled Bren.

“Hmm?” murmured Bren, groggily.

“We fell asleep, it’s morning. The sun’s just come up.”

“What? But that’s impossible! How could we…” Bren cut his sentence short when he saw the slowly rising sun over the distant hills .

“Something’s happened.”

“Where’s Milo? Has he come out? He can’t have stayed there all night, he’d have frozen!” Bren jumped out of his chair, and turned to face the cave. Except there wasn’t a cave. Where the mouth had been, was now a wall of ancient stones. Not stones that could have been moved, but high and moss-covered, as though they’d been there forever.

“We haven’t moved. I checked, in case we sleepwalked, or something. But we haven’t moved an inch,” said Jonathan, running his hands through his thin, grey hair, and pacing back and forth.

“Has the cave sunk? The entrance could have….” began Bren.

“I thought that too, but surely we’d have heard it? Unless the gases from the marsh really put us under deep.”

“Milo!” Bren yelled, slapping his hand against the rock, where the cave entrance had been. “Milo!”

“I’m going to go and get some pickaxes, shovels; whatever I have. And I’ll bring the dog; she might be able to find a scent, or something, that could help,” Jonathan announced with a snap of his fingers.

“Good, great. Check our house, in case he went back before….before whatever this is, happened,” suggested Bren

“Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, Jonathan ran quickly down the safe path through the marsh, leaving Bren anxiously shouting his husband’s name, and clawing at the stone with his hands.

“Fucking dammit!” Bren roared, tossing the pickaxe to one side. There were scratches and minor indents all over the surface of the rock before him, but no real damage had been done. He turned to his left to see Jonathan had dug a hole that was now nearly three feet deep, but facing him was still the sheer wall of rock. It just went down, however deep he went.

“It can’t have sunk this much in one night, it just can’t,” said an exasperated Jonathan.

“I’m going to try the sledgehammer again,” said Bren, wiping dirt and sweat from his brow. “Where’s the emergency services??” he asked Johnathan, irritably.

“Probably trying to scare up a helicopter. They’re not getting a vehicle through this marsh.” Jonathan took out his phone. “I don’t even have a single bar. I can go home and call them again if you like.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s best.” Bren sighed heavily, then frowned slightly, looking just over Jonathan’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with Bess?”

“She won’t come any closer. I don’t know why, but I’ve never tried to bring her this close to the cave before.”

“You think she can sense whatever the fuck is wrong with this place?” asked Bren, as he watched the dog.

“I was thinking the same,” said Jonathan.

“Maybe she’s the smart one.”

Bren awoke on the couch, for the second morning in a row. The first night, he’d spent outside the cave again, but, at Jonathan’s insistence, he’d eventually gone home. The emergency services had arrived, surveyed the situation, and had rather quickly decided against the use of any explosives for fear it might make the suspected ‘landslide’ even worse. Jonathan had pointed out that a landslide wouldn’t have had such a localised effect, but they had refused to budge on the matter. Instead, they’d insisted they needed to bring in some specialised drilling equipment, and would return as soon as it arrived.

Three days. It had now been three days since Milo had entered that cave. In the meantime, Bren hadn’t eaten properly, or slept anywhere near enough. His mind constantly veered back and forth between anxiety, blind panic, and then, utter disbelief at the situation. Sometimes, he almost felt as though he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. He needed some air, he decided, knowing he might well end up going back to the cave, but not seeing any need to fight the urge. Throwing on his shoes and coat, he left the house and walked briskly down the garden path.

“What the hell?” cursed Bren, as his foot caught on something. Looking down, he saw a thick green vine had grown across the pathway, and started spreading up the old stone wall that ran parallel to the garden. There were tiny flowers on the vine, unlike anything he’d ever seen. Weeding was the last thing on his mind, so on he went.

Bren’s walking route took him alongside several other cottages, and as he walked by the final garden, before he reached the clearing, he noticed a woman carefully pruning some unusual flowers with a pair of shears. This only caught his eye, because he recognised the flowers, and the vine they were growing from, as the same type he’d noticed on his own path.

“Unusual looking thing, isn’t it?” the woman remarked, noticing Bren studying her work.

“Yeah, there’s one in my garden. Never seen anything like it,” responded Bren.

“You wouldn’t have. They’re extinct,” the woman smiled.

“What?” exclaimed Bren.

“These plants, dear. They’re prehistoric. Simply put, they don’t exist anymore. Or shouldn’t, at least,” she replied, gazing at the flowers that shouldn't be.

“How do you know that?” Bren challenged, as politely as he could.

“Botany is something of a passion of mine. I used to teach plant biology at the school. The same one your neighbour, Jonathan, taught at, actually,” she answered, bringing her gaze back to bear on him.

“Right. So, do you know why we might be seeing these plants all of a sudden?” Bren asked .

“Not a clue, but these vines aren’t the only ones. Since last night, I’ve also found extinct species of Cycad, Davallia Solida, and Protea in my garden alone. Lord only knows what other people might find in theirs,” she said with a little amusement.

“I don’t know what any of those are, so I’ll take your word for it,” Bren smiled, then thought for a moment, and said, “Hang on, since last night? They’ve all grown since then?”

“That’s right. Bizarre, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Bren felt queasy, a chill filling his bones, and making him sweat and ache at the same time. There was a compulsion to run, to immediately get back home. It wasn’t logical; wasn’t a feeling that came from anything resembling rational thought. Rather it was like a tug on his gut; like a rope around his innards had been pulled. “I, um, I have to go,” he muttered awkwardly.

Bren turned and ran, back past the neighbouring cottages, and up the slight hill that led to his own place. He hadn’t run that far—or that fast—in years, yet he managed to find the energy to not stop once. The door to his home was wide open, as he had a feeling it would be. He steeled himself, and entered, then came close to fainting when he saw who was waiting for him.

“Well, you took your time. Here I was expecting a big, grand welcome party, and there’s not even a banner!” said Milo, standing stark naked in the middle of the living room. His skin looked healthy and bronzed, his physique was its old gym-honed self, his hair thick, and his eyes were sparkling. He looked better than Bren ever remembered him looking.

“Milo?” was all Bren could get out.
“That’s what my underwear says. Or, it would, if I was wearing any.”

“I don’t understand,” Bren stood there with a dumbfounded look on his face. It almost made Milo want to laugh.

“Neither do I. My clothes were all gone when I woke up. Weird isn’t it?”

“That’s not what…” Bren's hand came up to his face, covering his mouth.

“I know. And, I don’t even know if I can answer your questions. I have as many myself as you do. But hey, I’m here, I feel great; what’s to worry about? Things don’t have to make sense, right? I mean, none of this did,” Milo flung his hand out dismissively.

“No, I suppose not.”

“And, I’m hardly the first person to wake up healthy, after three days in a cave,” Milo joked. “Although, I think He at least got to keep his clothes. Seriously, what is this about, with the nudeness?”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” said Bren, steadying himself against the armchair, for fear he might still faint. “Is this real? Am I dreaming this?” he wondered aloud.

“I hope not. Do you usually dream about me, nude?” Milo teased.

“Not just standing there, no,” smiled Bren.

The two men embraced, and Bren burst into tears. Milo cried, too, his tears running onto Bren’s shoulder. He could feel the warmth from his husband’s body, as he held him close, so glad to have him near this way. But, deep in Bren’s mind, something was screaming. Some long-forgotten instinct that warned of things the logical mind couldn’t explain. He ignored it, and kissed his husband once more.

Bren sipped his coffee, and looked out the French doors, onto the rear garden. It had been tidy when he and Milo had first moved in, which was something of a blessing as grounds-keeping was hardly a task that either of them relished. Now, however, it was thick and overgrown. Those same vines Bren had noticed in the village, grew everywhere, as well as various other colourful flowers, the likes of which he hadn’t seen before. He didn’t fancy himself any kind of expert, but the flowers and plants filling his garden just seemed out of place. It was all too tropical, too wild.

“Going to have to buy some weed killer, or something,” he commented, hearing Milo approaching him.

“Oh, I don’t know, I quite like it. It’s like we live in a jungle,” Milo replied, sliding his arms around Bren’s waist, and holding him close from behind.

“I don’t even know what flowers they are. There was a lady in the village who said that she’d been seeing extinct flowers. Can you believe that? “

“Some of those in our garden, right now, are prehistoric,” Milo commented, kissing the back of Bren’s head, and then moving away to get his own mug of coffee.

“How do you know?” Bren asked.
“I know all sorts of things,” shrugged Milo.

“OK…” Bren frowned slightly, knowing that Milo had never shown the slightest interest in horticulture.
“It’s lovely out there, let’s go outside,” Milo beamed, opening the doors, and walking out barefoot. Bren put his slippers on, and followed him, more wary of stones and sharp thorns, or branches, than Milo now seemed to be.

Milo walked into the middle of the lawn, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and exhaling loudly.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he exclaimed.

“Untidy, more like. There was a nice lawn here before this sudden growth,” groused Bren.

“A neat, formulaic little square, with defined rows of plants around it, in their little boxes. You can’t have nature that way, Bren. It needs to be free, wild. Like it used to be.”

“Since when you do care about things like that?” Bren seemed perplexed

“I’m a new man,” Milo shrugged.

Bren forced a smile, but couldn’t stop himself from feeling edgy. He’d heard plenty of people undergoing personality transformations after a near-death experience, so perhaps that’s what this was? It was certainly a possibility, but Bren felt a newfound uneasiness around Milo that had refused to disappear, once he noticed it.

“Erm…Milo?” asked Bren, his eyes widening. “Don’t panic, just stay still, OK? There’s a snake near your foot.” Bren put his arm out, as if to shield Milo from the danger.

“Hm?” Milo looked down, and saw the brownish-green snake slithering around his foot. He smiled, and seemed to beckon it slightly with his hand, at which point the snake slithered up around his leg, over his back, and wrapped itself around his arm like a flowing scarf.

“Milo, what the fuck??” Bren shouted.

“It’s alright, he’s harmless,” Milo replied calmly.

“You’re not panicking.”

“No, I suppose I’m not,” said Milo, distractedly, as he gazed at his new friend.

“You’re afraid of snakes, Milo. Don’t you remember? We had a talk for hours about this area; you made me Google it to see how common they were because you were afraid of…well…something like this happening!” Bren finished in a rush of near-hysteria.

“I remember. I guess they just don’t bother me, anymore.”

“Well….great. That’s good,” smiled Bren, backing away as he spoke. “I’m going to get dressed.”

“I’ll be out here, having breakfast,” Milo replied, as several other animals started to approach him. A few mice scuttled his way from the undergrowth, a bird landed on his shoulder, and worms were pushing their way up from the ground around his feet .

Bren dressed quickly, and then slipped quietly out of the house, checking once to see that Milo was still in the garden with his odd new friends. Once past the front gate, Bren’s footfalls turned into a run. He had to go back there; he had to see.

The cave mouth was open again, as Bren had suspected it might be. He’d settled on the idea that the cave had, in some manner, swallowed Milo, and then spat him back out. Now that he was returned, the cave would appear as though nothing had ever happened. The appearance of the cave, as he stood before it, proved him right on this; but that wasn’t enough. Bren stepped forward and steeled himself, clenching his fists tightly, and then ducked his head to enter the cave.

It was dark, damp, and very quiet. There was a light breeze outside, but in here it was still. Quiet and empty, but nothing else. When he’d come here before, Bren had felt a vague discomfort, even being close to the cave, but now he was standing inside it and felt nothing. He cursed himself for not bringing Bess with him, as he was fairly confident that the dog would now have walked right into the cave with no qualms. Anger grew inside him, and Bren reached down and took a sharp-edged rock from the floor, then cut his hand with it. Grimacing in pain, as he sliced it open, he held his hand up, staring at the wound in the muted light. Nothing. No change. He wasn’t entirely sure how the process worked in any case, and couldn’t be certain that it would have healed, anyway. But, with what he already suspected, what he increasingly felt about the cave, this only served as further proof. Whatever had been in this cave, wasn’t here anymore. Which meant, of course, that it was now somewhere else.

“I’m here, son, hold your horses,” Jonathan replied from behind the door, before opening it and asking, “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Milo. A couple of days ago, he came back. I would have come and told you, I should have, but…”

“Calm down Bren, it’s all right. We already know,” Johnathan reassured him.

“You do?” Bren’s eyes widened.

“He came and saw us on his way back home. I wanted to call you, but Judy said we should let him reveal himself,” said Johnathan.

“That’s fine, you’re not at fault. I just…has anything like this happened before? I know people have been healed in that cave, but he was gone so long. And the way it closed…” Bren trailed off.

“I was worried, too. You saw me…I was frantic. But, we don’t know how that cave works, and even though it took longer this time, it still worked its wonders,” he offered .

Bren smiled and nodded. A growing unease spread within him, as he looked into the smiling faces of his neighbours. His friends. They seemed themselves, nothing was overtly wrong, but something was just slightly ‘off’. As though something barely noticeable, but still real, had been taken from them. Or added. The smiles were a little bit too warm, the eyes sparkled a little bit too brightly.

“We should all be happy. Milo was returned to us,” said Jonathan, another overly-happy smile filling his face.

“Yeah. I guess he was,” Bren reluctantly agreed.

“Mind your step.” Bren pointed at the thick, flower-filled vines that now littered the walkway on their walking route. In fact, for the past week, the vines and other ancient flora, had seemed to grow daily. Now every wall of the village was starting to possess its own creeping sheets of ivy.

“I’m not as clumsy as you think,” Milo frowned.

“You used to be,” Bren said under his breath, remembering countless broken dishes and banged table edges.

“What’s wrong, Mr Grumpy? You’ve been out of sorts all week,” complained Milo.

“I just have a question to ask, I suppose,” Bren responded rather reluctantly .

“Ask away,” said Milo, throwing his arms up and out in a welcoming gesture.

“Who the fuck are you?” asked Bren, turning in the middle of the path and staring directly at Milo. He hadn’t been going to broach this yet, but the silence of the fields around them seemed to press down on him, forcing the words outwards. He couldn’t wait any longer.

“It’s me, your husband,” Milo answered, looking a little hurt.

“No it isn’t. I don’t pretend to know about this kind of thing. I didn’t even think it was real, so I’m probably not making any kind of sense. But, I know the man I loved, the man I married, and you’re not him. You do a damn fine impression, but I can tell the difference,” Bren challenged.

“All right, Brendan,” said Milo with a heavy sigh, his voice taking on a slightly different tone. Bren noticed it actually sounded as though it were an echo of itself, deeper and yet in some way calming. “You’re right, I’m not Milo. It was wrong of me to deceive you, but the guilt affected my judgement,” he confessed.

“Guilt about what?” demanded Bren.

“That I couldn’t save him,”

“What are you saying?” asked Bren, swallowing the icy lump in his throat.

“Your husband died, Bren. I’m truly sorry.”

“He’s dead?” Bren yelled.

“Bren, you left a man with late stage cancer in a freezing cold cave. What did you think was going to happen? ”

“You were supposed to heal him!” Bren roared.

“You’re whatever was in that cave, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. And, perhaps, I’m not being fair. I did try to heal Milo, but he was too far gone. There was no way he was making it out of that cave alive.”

“So he died cold and alone?” Bren's hand covered his mouth in dismay.

“No, he wasn’t either of those things. I kept him comfortable, took his pain from him, and spoke to him. His final thoughts were of you.”

“Then why seal him inside?”

“Because I needed him.”

“This is a physical word, Bren. To walk here, one needs a physical form. I can fabricate them if needed, and have done so in the past, but times have changed. My previous forms would be far too large and cumbersome for the modern age,” explained Milo.

Bren remembered the bizarre wood carvings in his neighbour’s house, and whale bones in the marsh, and shuddered.

“This handsome man’s form was left right there for me, and it was perfect. The last time I walked amongst you, people worshipped things that didn’t look like them. Things they feared. But, now, they want familiarity, like that carpenter on the cross. ”

“Are you God? The Devil? Just what the fuck are you?” Bren demanded angrily.

“I’m neither of those. But then, what do you mean by the word ‘God’? A divine being with power over everything? No, that’s not me. In my time, people worshipped different gods for different things. We each had our own patch of land, so to speak.”

“And what was yours? What did you do?” asked Bren angrily.

“You healed people?”

“Bodies, minds, the land. Whatever was wrong that needed correcting.”

“When was this, what’s even your name?” Bren demanded.

“When? Always, I’ve never stopped. I just operate on a smaller scale now because people forgot. I can’t do as much when people don’t believe I’m there. And as for a name, I suppose I don’t know. Not in the modern English language, anyway. The last name I had was a picture, not a word.”

“Are there others like you?” asked Bren.

“There were. I’m not so sure now.”

“What do you look like, really?”

“My original, true form, wouldn’t fit on your world. And your mind couldn’t cope with seeing it.”

“Fuck…Jesus fuck, am I going insane??” Bren paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair .

“Bren, I’m answering all your questions as honestly as I can. I know it’s a lot of information to take in, but I wouldn’t feel right lying to you. You’re my husband, and also my midwife. I’m here again, because of you. And now I can resume my work,” said Milo

“Work?” asked Bren, incredulously.

“Healing the world. Have you seen it out there? There’s a lot to do. I’ve been considering a return for some time, and then Milo was brought to me, and it all fell into place. Now is the time, thanks to you,” Milo smiled.

“I didn’t do this for you,” Bren frowned.

“You were trying to help your husband. Out of love, passion, devotion. All things I admire and cherish, Bren. I apologise, again, for my deception, but I couldn’t predict how you’d react, and I didn’t want to push you over the edge.”

“I think I’m already there.”

“But, you’re not, Bren.” Milo, grasped Bren by the shoulders in a firm, but not aggressive, manner. “I know you believe me; everything I just said. You know it’s true, and you don’t fear me. Perhaps that’s because I wear his face, but I don’t think it is,” said Milo.

“Everything you’ve said made all of this make more sense, not less.” said Bren, shaking his head in amazement.

“That’s the power of truth, Bren. It heals. It cleanses. It rebuilds.”

“The prehistoric plants are your work, I assume?” asked Bren.

“Just a bit of decorating. Making things look the way I remember,” Milo shrugged. “I have a lot to do, but I need to start small. I’m new to being back here, but the longer I stay, and the more people hear me, the stronger I’ll grow. Then we can make a real difference,” Milo said emphatically.

“We?” queried Bren.

“I want you at my side, Bren. I can’t be your Milo, and I will never again pretend to be. But I still want to be yours, and for you to be mine,”

“You mean I get a choice?” Bren scoffed.

“It’s true that the minds of men and women are…pushed…towards acceptance of me. But not yours. Your love for Milo is the reason I’m here. That makes you special,” Milo smiled warmly at Bren.

“You understand I can’t make a decision like that immediately?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t rush you.”

Bren stood at the back of the ancient church, the rows of pews illuminated by flickering green flames casting an eerie glow over the whole place. He wasn’t sure what manner of powder had been used to create this effect, but it certainly provided an atmosphere. Milo, or the thing that wore his face, at least, stood at the front of the church, arms spread wide as he spoke. The pews were full of villagers, all smiling and grasping each other’s hands in sheer joy at the words of their forgotten god .

“Go, tell more to come here. Your families, your friends. Film our sermons and put them on the internet, let everyone know the good news.” Bren beamed, walking down the aisle and touching the foreheads of all he passed. “And, if any of you get sick, or you hurt yourself, come and find me. I’ll be in my wonderful home with my husband.”

Brendan watched the steam rising from the kettle, as the orange power light switched itself off. In his mind, he could hear it whistling, just like it had in his grandma’s old tin kettle, when he was a child. The memory made him smile, taking him away for a moment, but the glint of the knife in his hand, brought him immediately back to the present.

“No sugar in mine, please, Bren,” Milo called from the living room. His voice sounded the same as it always had, which made Bren’s skin crawl.

“All right,” Brendan called back, gripping the knife tightly, and glancing towards the door that would take him into the room the voice had come from. Milo always used to take sugar. One more thing that had changed. One more way in which Brendan didn’t really understand who he was married to anymore.

“You’re missing the film. Should I go back a scene?” Milo’s voice came again.

“No, I’m coming in now,” Brendan replied. He looked at the knife in his hand, and closed his eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the knife in the drawer, lifted the mugs of tea, and then re-joined his husband in the living room.