Fluke by James Herbert Page A

memory of green fields, open space; a town, but not a big town. They had formed the greater part of my life, these fields and this town. Where were they? If only I could find them. And yet I knew this city, even if this particular district was unfamiliar. Had I worked in London? I had a sudden vision of a woman, in her late fifties, plump but not large, smiling and holding her arms out, and it seemed she held them out to me, calling a name that was soundless to my ears. Her head became that of a dog's, and was just as warm, just as affectionate, just as welcoming. My two mothers vanished from my mind and were replaced by the figure of a man, a man who appeared quite normal, handsome in a featureless way, and his environment was somehow different, not part of the scene I had just envisaged.
    I hated him. Was it me?
    My thoughts wearily wandered on, uncontrolled, undirected: the child again, obviously mine; the girl -
    young woman - certainly my wife; a house; a street, a muddy lane; a town. The name of the town almost came to me; the names of the girl and the child hovered behind a tissue-thin barrier; my own name was rising from ocean depths and about to break surface. But a car swished past and the names scattered like startled fish.
    I watched the car's rear lights recede into the distance, twin reflections on the soggy road diminishing with them, suddenly reinforced by brake lights, and disappearing as the vehicle turned a corner (even that seemed familiar). I was alone again in an empty world and with an empty head. Then I saw the ghost.
    Have you ever seen a ghost? Probably not. But have you ever seen a dog suddenly become alert, for no apparent reason, his ears cocked, his hair bristling? You'd undoubtedly think he's just heard something that's escaped your ears, somebody walking by the house, another dog barking somewhere far in the night: and many times you'd be right. But often, it's because he's aware of presence - a spirit. He won't always be alarmed, perhaps just disturbed; it depends largely on the nature of the ghost itself. It could be friendly or unfriendly.
    Think I'm going a bit far now? Just wait till later.
    The ghost drifted across the road towards me, a shadowy form, a wispy, vaporous figure. It didn't see me, or, if it did, it chose to ignore me, and as the shape drew nearer, I was able to distinguish a face, shoulders, and a part of a torso. The apparition seemed to be wearing a jacket, and I could certainly make out a shirt-collar and tie. Why wasn't it naked - why do astral bodies never seem to be naked?
    Don't ask me, I'm only a dog.
    Now, I was disturbed, I admit it. There was nothing evil emanating from the spirit, I'm sure, but it was Page 25
    my first ghost both as a dog or as a man. My hair stood on end and my eyes widened. My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I was too frightened even to whine and the power to run had left me completely.
    It had the saddest countenance I've ever seen, a face that had been made aware of the ills of mankind, had learned the first lesson in death. It passed by me, close enough to touch, and I could clearly see the rain drizzling through it. Then the spectre was gone, drifting off into the night, leaving me to wonder if my restless mind hadn't invented the whole thing. It hadn't, for I was to see many more of these wandering spirits, most with the same burden of sadness, unaware it was just a phase for them; but it was to be a long time before I discovered their meaning.
    The experience drained me of what strength I had left and I fell into a deep undisturbed sleep.
    Seven
    Gentle nudging woke me.
    I shifted my position and tried to ignore the prodding, but I was too cold to become comfortable again.
    My eyes opened of their own accord and I saw a big black dog hovering over me.
    'Come on, squirt, don't let them find you napping there.'
    I blinked my eyes furiously, now fully awake.
    'Where did you get loose from, eh? Run away from home, or did they lose you on