In the quaint but spacious living room of my parents' holiday cottage, over-looking Loch Fyne,  I replaced the telephone receiver in its cradle.  Ian Carter's revelation about my parents' accident and my new-found identity, or lack of, to be more accurate, had left me numb.    I vaguely recollected Ian mentioning  wills and the estate, funeral arrangements etc. but I hadn't really taken in any of the finer details.  I'd agreed to his taking care of the necessary, and to his contacting me again in a day or two.  I knew I had to return home for the funerals, but right now, I just needed space.  But space to do what?

I slipped on my trainers and grabbed my jacket.  Checking my pockets for loose change, in case I needed...what? A drink? A packet of cigarettes? my inner voice, Baby Si, as I had called it, enquired.  Hell, I didn't even smoke!  I ventured down the garden path to the main street in Tarbert.  I loved it there.  At least I did until a few moments ago.  No, that was being over-dramatic.  I still loved it.  It was peaceful, scenic and quaint.  And, for the first time ever I realised, I never seemed to have the nightmares there.  Never!  Good god!  All that money my parents, (adoptive parents, the inner voice flatly reminded me) had spent on various treatments for my screwed up head and all it had needed was time spent there. 

I looked towards the ruined castle at the top of the hill which stood majestically watching over the harbour, and decided a brisk walk up would somehow do me good.  It was early summer, and surprisingly, it was dry on the West Coast of Scotland.  We had had so much rain two weeks before, and it had just been overcast last week.  Now, however, it was bright and warm with a gentle breeze coming up from the gulf stream.  I reached the summit in fifteen minutes.  I felt oddly exhilarated.  Picking my way through some of the old stones scattered over the hill, I drank in the view.  Sheer tranquility. 

Something hit my foot.  I looked down and saw a small stone roll a short distance past me.  As I turned towards the ruins, I was met by a mini landslide of shale and pebbles.  I stepped out of the way and thought I caught a glimpse of someone darting behind the north wall.  "Hello?" I called out.  I started towards the wall.  "You OK back there?"  I walked all the way round the old building.  Nothing. No one.  A trick of the light perhaps? 

I turned to head back down the hill when I bumped straight into an absolutely enormous man.  "S-sorry," I mumbled.  He was wearing a long black leather coat.  Everything seemed in slow motion as my eyes travelled up his leather-clad legs, his waist.  His hands hung loosely by his sides.  I inhaled sharply as I noticed how long the finger-nails were.  His chest was broad and heaving deeply under the black jersey shirt as he breathed.  He had to be pumping iron or steroids (or both) to be this big, I thought, as my eyes continued to his neck then his jawline. It  was square and strong also, with a deep cleft in the chin. A strong nose, the nostrils flared.

 But the eyes! Oh dear god! Baby Si screamed. They're not human!  They were red with serpent-like slits for pupils.  Adrenalin coursed through my body and suddenly I found myself running down the hillside, stumbling, falling, gaining my feet again giving way to the momentum I built up in my descent.  I almost crashed into the iron barrier at the bottom until I deftly jumped over and executed a perfect landing.  How on earth did I do that!  I turned to glance up the hill.  I could still see him.  He'd never moved.  Yet I could him hear him, laughing.  A deep, gutteral sound,from the soles of his feet. 

Sweet Jesus!  It was him! 

The man in my nightmares.