Author: Matthew Luscher

It began to pour as the bus pulled in. The driver shot me a puzzled look as I stepped off and made a gesture clearly hinting for me to get back onboard.

I ignored him.

It had been half a mornings journey down bumpy country roads, following the recommendation of a tattered old guide book I had bought a few days ago at a second hand shop.

I had flicked through the pages and landed on a village called Ullaloch in the Scottish highlands. It wasn’t its Jacobean hotel or twice a day buses that interested me, but a small note in strange handwriting next to the cheery description:

It is a great place for a short rest.

I had to have a look.

As the bus slid away I started down a narrow country lane towards the village. Not long after I spotted an old and large red brick building flanked by turrets, that must be the hotel. I quickened my pace and as I rounded the corner the rest of the village came into view.

Or what should have been the village.

Instead beyond the edge of the hotel the road ended right at the foot of a massive fortified concrete wall. There was no entrance.

The place seemed desolate, I couldn’t see a single person. I stared at my travel guide and looked again, no, this was it.

Intrigued, I went up to the hotel. The wallpaper was moulded and most of the windows were smashed. A worn noticeboard in the corner had a few leaflets pinned to it. Most were too faded to be legible but one said “Save our Ullaloch from Experiment No. 235824” and another “Community Giveaway: Travel Books!”.

As I was reading the board I felt a sudden cold draft on my neck. I thought it was the wind from the broken windows.

Then the coldness began to spread to my shoulders and back.

That was weird.

Suddenly I started to stumble, my vision swimming, I tried to grasp a nearby chair but my arms were frozen.

I was falling.

But I didn’t get as far as the floor.

Instead I felt hands around my shoulders. A silhouette appeared in front of me.

“Another tourist?”

“Looks like it, he’s got that book, same one as they all have”.

“Who are you?” I tried to ask, but it was no good, I was slipping away.

“Take him… main road… book…”

Thoughts are blurring… are those… ruins of cottages… Ullaloch…? Is that a huge pile… of… of travel guides?!

…

Honk.

Honk.

What is that sound? I want to sleep…

Honk.

HONK.

No, it won’t stop. Fine, fine.

I open my eyes.

The light is blinding. I see… a shape of a bus? An impatient looking driver was blasting the horn for all it was worth.

“Wake up! I won’t be driving back around here till morning”.

I stumble onboard, struggling with my pockets before I find my wallet and pay for a ticket.

The bus doors shut with a hiss and then with a rumble we began to move off.

How did I get here? It’s already evening. I can’t understand what happened. Did I fall asleep when waiting for the bus?

I do feel rested.

Wait a minute. Where is my guide book? It’s not in my pocket, I must have dropped it when rushing to get onboard.

Oh well.

It wasn’t that useful anyway.