Dreams of Sherlock Holmes. It began with the dreams. I was walking through the foggy streets of Victorian London, shivering in the cold night air. Up ahead I saw the black shape of a horse and carriage. The clip-clop sound of the horse’s hooves was acute in the night air. I had no idea how I had gotten here. Surely this was not real. It couldn’t be real, could it? I knew I was from the 21st century. This place, this time, was the past. It did not exist now. Somewhere deep down inside I began to feel the awareness that this was just a dream, yet I could not wake up. I was stuck here for the time being. Suddenly a dark figure stepped out of a shadowy doorway and began to come towards me. I tensed and stared. It was a man, his face concealed beneath a shabby hood. ‘Simon Jones?’ The voice was dry, guttural. I froze in my tracks. ‘Who wants to know?’ ‘Oh, I’m nobody.’ The dark figure told me. ‘Nobody at all.’
Posted on: Wed, 24 Jul 2013 11:13:17 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015