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Pneuma Springs Publishing - Fred Maddox

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118 pages

English

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Assume NothingPeter Grice was your average kind of guy, an ordinary man, down-to-earth, simple and certainly not superstitious. He was a sceptic and dismissed stories of ghosts, ghouls and little men from Mars as nonsense-a figment of the imagination. He disregarded stories of the supernatural, and scoffed at people who related such tales. This was until he moved to a new town and met Greg and his three friends in Harley House. The sequence of events which followed his encounter with them would shake his view of the world to the core and when he meets the 'operator' - his perception of the life is dramatically altered forever.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

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Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	26 septembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782283232
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Harley House

Fred Maddox
Copyright

First Published in 2013 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
Harley House Copyright © 2013 Fred Maddox
Fred Maddox has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Mobi eISBN: 9781782283188 Epub eISBN: 9781782283232 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782283287 Paperback ISBN: 9781782283133
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Foreword
Do you ever take a moment to think about this beautiful world in which we live, or do you take it for granted as most of us do? It is home not only to human beings, though most of us are apt to forget this, but also home to a mind boggling variety of weird and wonderful creatures of all shapes and sizes. There are many species being discovered every day, and no doubt there are many more yet to be discovered, so what right has man to arrogantly assume control of this world when there are creatures which have been around for millions of years before we arrived?
In the grand scheme of things, this planet of ours is an insignificant speck of dust floating around in a galaxy we call the Milky Way. This galaxy contains so many stars and planets, it is impossible to count them all. To put our galaxy into perspective. If each of these planets and stars were a grain of sand you would be able to fill a two pound bag, and the Milky Way is only one of millions of galaxies we know about.
Our little world is approximately 4.5 billion years old. If we were to condense those 4.5 billion years into a 24hr clock, the human race would not have made an appearance until two minutes before midnight, long after other creatures had begun to roam this planet.
We humans are by no means the biggest, strongest, or fastest of this world's species, but we arrogantly assume we have a superior thinking brain, and in our relatively short space of time on this planet we have asserted our authority. Unlike our fellow creatures though, who are content to live by the rules of Mother Nature, and who take floods, fire, and famine, and even death in their stride, we humans cannot cope with such adversities. Instead of accepting that Mother Nature knows best how to run our home, we continue to interfere with the natural progression of things, presuming we are masters of our own destiny. Despite great strides in science and technology though, there are many mysterious happenings occurring about us for which we have no answer.
The human is a complex creature. He goes careering off into space in a determined effort to make deep space his own, erecting flags on any planet or lump of rock he manages to land on, claiming it as his own, and yet he still has a lot to learn about his own world. If he was to concentrate as much energy into understanding his own planet and work hand in hand with Mother Nature, instead of slowly destroying his own home, the world may be a better place to live. The trouble is, man doesn’t know as much about his own environment as he thinks he does.

I still ask the question. How many of us actually sit down and wonder about this beautiful planet we live on? Do you ponder about the mysterious and unexplained happenings which take place, almost on a daily basis?
There are those of us who tend to scoff at the thought of ghosts for example, but who are we to say there are no such things. People may have genuinely seen events which have happened in the past. Could it be a warp in the time barrier? Now what is this time barrier you ask? There are eminent scientists who subscribe to the theory that there are several time layers wrapped around the Earth like the layers that make up an onion, and these layers are supposedly held apart by barriers. One or more of these barriers from time to time may develop a weak point, allowing it to be crossed. This of course is only a theory; after all, time is the invention of man. Can we not see back in time when we look out into space? The further we probe into that infinite blackness filled with billions upon billions of planets, the further we are looking back in time.
Now what about that weird phenomenon we call fate for instance, which we talk about in a matter-of-fact way? We know what happens but don’t know how or why. The question has to be asked. Who it will happen to? Who controls where and when it will happen? It certainly isn’t us.
There are many more such mysterious happenings for which we have no answer, and I don’t think we ever will. My advice is, don’t even try. The journey of life is like being strapped into the seat of a roller coaster carriage and sent on its way. You will experience many exhilarating moments I am sure, and also experience many scary moments as you are lifted high and then plunged back down to reality. You may enjoy your journey or you may hate it, unfortunately you have no control over it. Once started on your way, you cannot get off until the operator decides you can and brings your journey to an end, which begs the question, who is the operator?
The Novel
1
Think what you will about this extraordinary story I am about to tell you. Some will dismiss it as a complete fantasy. Others will ponder the possibility that it just may be true. Then there are those of you who will know the truth, because you will have already travelled along this very same path.
My name is Peter Grice, which is not my real name of course; I prefer to keep that piece of information to myself. I grew up in the Yorkshire town of Ballington, a typical northern community whose skyline in those days was dominated by towering pyramid shaped coal mine slag heaps and huge, square, red brick Victorian cotton mill buildings. It was an industrious little town. The coal mines working at full stretch with the never ending reciprocal motion of those giant wheels sitting atop huge gantries hauling tub after tub of coal gouged from the bowels of the earth, and its cotton mills churning out a never ending supply of cloth. The main street, which barely afforded room for the vehicles trying to negotiate its narrow highway, was lined with an endless variety of shops, which apart from a small Woolworths store and a branch of the Fifty Shilling tailors, all were locally owned. The march of the large supermarkets had not yet reached here. In those days the town was enjoying virtual full employment, but if you were ever to find yourself in this town with its grey stone buildings blackened by years of industrial pollution, you would wonder where the money was being spent.
I was just one of many children attending an ordinary school and receiving a standard education. I liked my school and never played truant as so many regularly did. The only times I was tempted, was when it was my class’s turn for physical training. Oh how I hated those press-ups and the running jumps at the vaulting horse and not quite making it, and what good throwing a medicine ball at each other did was a mystery to me. I know I felt fit for nothing after each of these sessions, so how was that benefiting me? My theory was it did you more harm than good. Most of the kids got excited when every so often we would march across to the nearby park for a game of football, but I was hopeless at that as well. There was too much running around for me, but you had to play whether you liked it or not. I did complain to the teacher on one occasion that I didn’t like football, to which he gave me a withering look and said, “Well you will just have to keep playing until you do like it.” I wasn’t bad at cricket though, but even then if I could get out of it I would.
Now after that description, you would think I would be a little round barrel of a child, but I was just the opposite. I was as thin as a rake with hardly any flesh on me at all. I am sure the teachers thought my parents were starving me, but it wasn’t so. My mother was an excellent cook and saw to it I had well balanced meals, and that I was smartly dressed and polite. The one thing I did excel at was mathematics. Where others groaned at the thought of a maths lesson, I would literally look forward to it, and always came top of the class in that subject. I had a good head for figures. I took after my father in that respect. He had a well paid job as a wage and accounts clerk at a small paper mill on the edge of town. We were by no means a poor family, but we weren’t rich either, we certainly didn’t have money to throw about.
As with most towns, Ballington had its rough districts, like the Blackheath council estate which was controlled by the two Vernon brothers. It was a place you avoided unless it was absolutely necessary to go there.
On the opposite side of town was West Park, a very much upper class district full of large detached houses, wide tree lined avenues and two or three cars in the drive. This was where anyone who was anyone lived. I had dreamed for years, even as a boy, about being able to afford to buy a house at West Park.
Then there was the Larfield district where I lived. It was a pleasant enough area. The residents were decent friendly folk and I and my friends were free to roam its streets and parks without hassle, and as long as we didn’t venture into the Vernon brother’s territory there was no trouble, and generally we kept out of their way. They of course could go where