The Stranger Stories Season - 1 Episode 1

Stranger

It was about a year ago, I'd been down to London on the train to visit my Dad. I mean - there's only so many times a man wants to drive through road works like that. I arrived back at about three and I was merrily wandering out of the station when a man came up to me.

He was... tall... six-six if he was an inch, with long dark hair down to the middle of his back.

"The market?" he said quizzically, "Do you know it?" I wasn't sure if he was asking me, because he seemed to be looking six inches off my left shoulder. I twisted my head but no-one was near me.

"You mean in Midsummer?" I asked back.

He looked confused, "It is not yet spring."

"Midsummer Boulevard." I said, thinking that I had a bit of a nutter here. "The market in the town centre in Midsummer Boulevard."

He nodded slowly, "Yes," he said slowly, "The market." His eyes slipped from their gaze-to-my-left so that he was looking straight at me, "Show me to the market."

I had one of those shivers, the ones that include goosebumps. I wasn't sure if he was chatting me up or not. I hoped for the "not" 'cos he most definitely wasn't my type.

"It's up the road." I said pointing straight along Midsummer, "You really can't miss it."

He turned to follow my finger. "I cannot see it." Then turned back to me, "Show me." forcefully.

"I could put you in a cab?" I suggested, "You'll be there in no time."

"No." His eyes were back to watching that unnerving place six inches from my head, "Show me."

I was a little worried. He was very... forceful. I took a second to try to gauge him. Would I be able to outrun him? He was, as I'd said, taller than me. Looking at his face I couldn't put an age to him. I mean normally I can only guess with five years. But if you asked me I wouldn't be able to tell you whether he was twenty five or fifty five years old. His eyes were strange, green with a yellow tinge, harsh nose and thin lips.

He was dressed in soft fabric clothing, no bright colours and no leather. His shoes looked like moccasins.

Great, I thought. I'd got a mad nine-foot-tall Red Indian hassling me.

"Market." He said.

I have some experience in the matter - and it seemed to me as if English was a foreign language to him, but I couldn't place his accent - it seemed British if anything; which, of course, felt silly, if I thought English was his second language.

"Okay." I said, "This way." and started off away from the station.

As we walked over the road crossings he stayed behind me, in fact I thought I saw him shy away from a taxi that started towards us. Hell, nothing strange about that - taxis always give me the creeps. (Or is it the taxi drivers?)

He was nodding as we walked to the middle of the station plaza. "Yes." He said, more to himself than me, "This is the way."

He followed me as we took the underpass to cross Grafton Street. In the shade, under the road, he seemed to shrink, and I realised he was hunched up - he seemed very uncomfortable in this short tunnel. "It's okay." I said, "It's only a short one." I tried to be re-assuring, "We keep them well lit and they only rarely smell of urine."

He snorted, then, as we stepped out into the daylight again, he stood tall and seemed to actually be taller than when we first met.

The wind was rather blowy, and a gust out of the underpass blew his hair up and I caught a glimpse of pointed ears.

I gave a small laugh, "Those must have caused you problems at school!" I said.

He looked quizzically at me.

"Your ears." I said. "Kids can be cruel to anyone different."

He took a moment to think. As if he didn't really understand what I was talking about, then nodded in agreement, as if to shut me up. "Yes. They can. Nasty creatures."

I decided against small-talk. I decided to just show him to the Market and then make my excuses and run off home.

He stepped out in front of me and nearly got run over by a cyclist. I had to grab his arm and pull him. As it was the cyclist nearly wobbled himself to death. I had to laugh. He frowned at me.

"You have strange people here." He told me. I couldn't really argue.

We crossed over Saxon and I had to help him cross the busy car park. I headed towards the food court of Midsummer Place. He put a hand to my shoulder and stopped me. "I cannot go in there."

I turned to him, he was pale and visibly shaking. "I cannot go inside... those places." He really didn't like the look of entering the shopping centre. I could understand that - I hate the thrust of a crowd, mostly I hate Christmas crowds, but any Saturday crowd can be nasty too.

"It's not like being inside." I told him. "There are only three walls really."

He shook his head.

"Hold on." I said, "We can go between the buildings - that's outside, trust me." Hell. We all know you can get soaked if it's raining heavily and you're walking between Midsummer Place and TheCentre.

I guided him around Gap and I could see him hunching again as we walked between the two malls. Again, when we stepped out into the open air he straightened up and, I swear, he was an inch or two taller than when we went in. I put this down to me just being spooked by his general demeanour.

Then he smiled and the world was a better place. I mean it, I felt lifted.

"The market." He said - we could see the stalls in front of us. "Come."

Without realising it, without noticing that he didn't need my guidance any longer, I followed him.

He darted into the market, passing through the crowd as if he was swimming. I had to run to keep up with him, and, as I kept him in sight, I lost track of where we were. He turned left then right then right then left and... I wasn't sure where the hell we were in the market. We went through a thin passageway between a clothing stall and a mobile-phone-unlocker stall, then suddenly he stopped and I nearly ran straight into him. We were stood in front of a stall - to each side of us was just the back of other stalls.

The stall had a lot of... things on it. Fabrics, jewellery, knives, bottles of strange liquids and bottles of clear liquids with strange... things floating in. The stall keeper was almost a cliché, a short man, with a red fez on his head. I almost expected him to say "Just like that!", but, luckily, he didn't.

My friend - I was surprised to think of him as that, even if I'd only met him twenty minutes ago - smiled and spoke to the stall keeper.

"Do you have it?" He asked, he seemed almost breathless, impatient. The stall keeper smiled and nodded, bending down behind the stall and coming back up with a package wrapped in pied muslin.

The stall keeper had the package in his left hand and held out his right. "We have an agreed price."

My friend, (why didn't I ever ask his name?) slipped his hand into an inner pocket and pulled out something small and shiny, he held it up to the light.

"I have it here." He said, "The soul of a hero from a different age." I was about to laugh - I stopped. It looked like amber, with a swirl inside. The swirl seemed to move in the sun. He flicked his hand and it flew towards the stall keeper - who closed his hand without moving his arm. He then lifted his hand up and - the amber was there - he lifted it towards the sun.

"Yes." This stall keeper smiled for a second then frowned and shook his head "He died an ignoble death. We will remember him." He held out the package, it was about the size of a large mango or paw-paw. My friend reached out and took it in a smooth motion. Then immediately turned his back on the stall keeper. He looked at me and I drew close, eager to see what he had bought, what was worth a Hero's soul?

He unfolded the muslin carefully and slowly. A glint caught my eye and I had to blink as the item caught the weak late-winter sun. Then it was open to the air.

It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever beheld, like a giant diamond, but full of a sparkling miasma - a shining cloud in a thousand colours. I took a breath. "What is it?" I asked.

"It's a dragon egg." He said, matter of factly, "Possibly the only one left."