The Mist in the Klein Bottle
The Mist in the
Klein Bottle
While the boys are away the spivs will play. There are crooks even in wartime but some crooks are worse than others. When an ancient demon becomes involved with fascist sympathisers those left behind on the home front will need all their skills to keep evil at bay.
Throughout the war Britain was the unwilling host to home grown and imported fascists who waged a clandestine conflict on the civilian population.
Extract:
Volya Volkoff stared out of the window at the people on the street. They hurried past without a sideways glance, ignoring the young man in the apron staring out at them. To be fair it would have been difficult for them to have seen him even if they’d been looking. The window glass was smoked to make it hard to see in and the blackness behind it only added to its opacity. Volya leant on his broom and glared. They walked past as if the room beyond the window didn’t exist; this wasn’t how it should be.
Things had happened. His father was dead. They should be averting their eyes in deference and slowing their pace in respect. Father had died two days ago and left Volya with the burden of this place, a dismal shop on a dismal street with the dismal rain tumbling from a dismal sky. His father had been old school; he observed the niceties and the rituals, he knew his place, he called everyone sir or madam and never took offence whether his customers were friendly or indifferent, polite or downright rude.Well, things were going to change. Volya was tired of servitude. It was time people learned that he was a force to be reckoned with. He had knowledge and he had power and he knew the secrets and practice of the lore. Volya closed his eyes and imagined how it could be.
His thoughts were interrupted by the rattle of the doorknob on the shop door. Couldn’t the idiots read? The shop was ‘Closed due to bereavement.’
The rattling ceased and the shadowy shape on the other side of the frosted glass retreated. Volya moved the broom and swept up the small pile of hair that had somehow escaped even though he’d swept the floor five times already. He stared at the small, tangled pile and a thought crossed his mind… He smiled.
