Tag: Canals

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Area 51 By Jan Bee Brown

Paul was busy reading in the Library Staffroom and because his head was buried in a Haynes Manual he only heard part of Naomi’s latest story. He noticed Vikki pick up a book from the table and remove a feather that had been used as a bookmark. It was amazing what librarians found when books were returned, someone once used a slice of crispy bacon as a book mark, in another he had found a love letter, a lottery ticket – no money though and a bizarre photo of someone’s cat in fancy dress, in fact only recently Paul had found dried waterweed in a book about Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show.

When Paul walked home from work that night the air was crackling with electricity, he was keen to get back because his library book ‘UFO Investigations 1892 to the Present Day’ was heavy in his rucksack. He’d been fascinated by Ufology since he was a lad, that’s why he liked to walk home along the canal, he reckoned that this stretch of water had the most Alien spacecraft sightings in Scotland and he knew because he was there, back in the 90’s.

Paul was wearing his black beanie hat under his head torch but he was suddenly cold so he decided to run the next stretch of the canal to warm up. He was sweating as he approached the bridge, at first he thought a seagull was sitting on the railing but as he got closer he found it was a man in a pair of red Long-Johns sitting cross legged under a street lamp, he had a needle and thread in his hand and he was mending a pair of soft leather pants. On his head he had a Native American Indian head-dress, the headband had small polished glass beads that sparkled in the lamp light and the long feathers he had mistaken for a seagull were strung together neatly with leather thongs. They fell down either side of his red face and over his shoulders and as Paul admired them he noticed the gap, one feather was missing. Happy to stop and catch his breath, Paul decided that there was something interesting about this character, his matted hair looked like a shaggy wig and his face was wrinkled like a walnut and a very strange shade of red. There under the street lamp on the bridge the air felt hot and heavy.

“Looks like we might be in for some thunder?” Paul suggested politely

The old man shook his head and continued to repair his pants.

“You look like you’ve been in the wars?” Paul joked…

The old man scowled and on he sewed.

“I see you’ve lost a feather?” Paul pointed out…

The old man put down his needle and slowly shut his eyes; Paul saw a tear run down the old man’s cheek it left behind a pale tributary on his face and a pink stain started to bloom on his vest as it dripped from his chin.

Then Paul realised that the feather bookmark he had seen at work in the library earlier was a perfect match.

“Did you leave your feather in a library book?” Paul asked

“ Whit? Library – library – library …”

He kept repeating the word Library like a mantra perhaps he was trying not to forget where he had left his missing feather or perhaps he had never heard of a library before? To Paul it sounded like a spell the man was reciting.

“Well if you call in I can get it back to you?” Paul suggested

“Each feather is a badge of honour for bravery” and then another tear travelled down the old man’s face.

An owl hooted and Paul turned to look up the canal and then a roll of thunder echoed under the bridge and SPLASH! Paul turned to find the old man gone. Paul ran down onto the tow path to the nearest orange life preserver but the ring had been stolen and as he looked back at the canal all he could see were bubbles rising from the black water… so Paul pulled off his trainers and dived into the canal to save a life.

Paul was a tall man but he found himself sinking down, down, deeper and down, he realised he still had his heavy rucksack on his back with the Haynes Manual inside so he shrugged it off one shoulder and was about to abandon it when his feet touched the bottom of the canal. Paul’s head torch shone on the lots and lots of old junk: witches cauldrons, rusting stoves, old canon and lots and lots of soup ladles and hundreds and hundreds of cold iron horseshoes. Paul picked one up and put it in his pocket for luck. Then he realised he had been holding his breath all this time…but looking up he could see the arch under the bridge and realised he was in what looked like a snow dome but instead of snowflakes it was full of bubbles of air, he caught a bubble of air in his mouth and could then breath. The bubbles appeared to be coming from a bubble machine that looked curiously like a giant chocolate fountain but when he swam over he noticed that there were words on the side of the iron fountain:

WASTE NOT WANT NOT

Paul walked around the fountain an on the back were more letters:

PROPERTY OF THE CALCUTTA WATER CO

Paul had never been to Calcutta but somehow he liked the taste of Calcutta water bubbles or rather Calcutta air bubbles… in fact the bubbles tasted sweet and tickled the inside of his nose so he felt like a kid again.

Suddenly Paul saw a giant horse galloping towards him, its eyes were wild. The horse slowed and came to a halt in front of Paul and as it shook its great head and reared, its long mane shimmered. Paul looked up at the horse and wanted to touch its soft muzzle but the horse’s shoulder was an arms length above his head, now if it had had on a bridal he could have held on to it…then Paul realised he had an apple in his rucksack so he rummaged in the deep side pocket, grabbed the apple and just as he swung the rucksack back on his shoulders he realised he was being watched…as he lifted his head slowly the horses head descended and Paul came eye to eye with the beast and the huge horse did not blink.

Paul liked anything out of the ordinary and there was nothing ordinary about this evening so far so he reached out with his right hand and touched the mane; it was matted with waterweed and then realised he couldn’t let it go! He put the apple in his teeth as he tried to untangle his right hand with his left then found both hands were stuck, then the horse shook its huge head and Paul was lifted up on its back, the horse galloped away and as it did so it bared its yellow teeth and screamed!

With the apple still clenched in his teeth Paul eyes were almost as wild as those of the phantom horse as they jumped bridges and leapt over locks and soon they entered a long tunnel… a row of old lights flickered along the arched walls, Paul could see a long shadow, a figure silhouetted, a figure that was unearthly it was green from top to toe…something or someone from another world. Then the something or someone spoke:

“Take me to your leader” and to Paul’s surprise the phantom Horse he was riding slowed down then stopped and reared up:

“What do you want from the Kelpie King?”

“Do I speak to the King himself?” The green being enquired

“No, I am The Duke, however it is only I or my brother Baron who may call on the King… what have you come to ask of the Kelpie King?”

“We have come for your Barrino!  We have come for your Kolabar! We have come for your Sun Bar…and above all we have come for Carnera your giant horse to pull our intergalactic cart!”

His head above water now Paul saw that the green life-form wore silver shoes and a soft hat behind which an army of aliens were marching through the tunnel towards him, more strange beings in green overalls and a light behind them at the end of the tunnel grew brighter and brighter blinding Paul and then he heard a voice call out:

“Paul! Paul, have you got any cold iron in your pocket?”

Paul thought he recognised the voice but blinded by the light he couldn’t see who was barking orders at him, they sounded confident though they sounded like they were in charge.

What do I have in my pocket he wondered? He usually had a box of tic-tacs and he always had a 2B pencil but nothing iron –he kept his keys in his rucksack. Then he remembered the horseshoe that he had picked up at the edge of the canal he pulled his hands away but still couldn’t get his hands unstuck from the horses’ mane and the green army was advancing down that narrow towpath towards him!

“Look there’s a fountain of aerated water further down the canal!” Paul shouted to the Alien leader.

“But only the Bru will do!” the Alien replied and Paul realised that the sweet tasting air bubbles had indeed tasted like Irn-Bru.

“Danger! Paul! Duck!” another voice behind him shouted.

Paul leant down to see what type of dangerous duck was swimming around in the canal and heard a SWOOSH as something spun through the air above his head. The heavy silver chain landed like a lasso on the giant horses neck. The horse reared then disappeared under the water wearing a glittering silver bridal.

Paul felt hands grab his hoody and pull him up onto the narrow walkway and when he looked up there to his surprise there were Naomi and Vikki from the Library. Vikki was carrying Paul’s trainers and Paul realised that his hands wee empty apart from a handful of waterweed. The three librarians were now facing the approaching alien army and the light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter and they saw the silhouette of a cigar shaped object, a tube pointed at both ends.

Suddenly the sound of galloping hooves and whoops and war cries echoed down the tunnel behind them and Paul turned to see and the old man with the feather headdress galloping towards him followed by a posse of Cowboys.

They were trapped in the middle of the tunnel between two opposing war parties! The noise was deafening as the air crackled as a speedboat roared through Prospect Hill tunnel.

CUT! CUT! CUT! A voice shouted and silence fell in the tunnel

“What are you three doing here?” A man in a black cap clutching a black clapperboard cried reaching behind his ear for a piece of chalk.

Paul, Vikki and Naomi were lost for words.

“You’ve just ruined a perfectly good take! Have you any idea how long that take took to set up? The director man asked

“What’s your name and where do you come from? Naomi asked taking charge

“We’re the B A Cowboys! Ok Let’s reset and we’ll go again! “

The three librarians were shooed along the tunnel and out of shot by the alien commander, under a street lamp Vikki and Naomi realised that they had met this person before.

“ You’ll be needing this…” she whispered as she slipped a small soft object into Naomi’s hand.

“TAKE 2 – ACTION!” The director barked and the clapperboard slammed shut.

On the Monday of Book Week Scotland the three librarians held an impromptu meeting in the Staff Room. On the table in front of them were three items up for discussion: a white feather, a horseshoe and a pink knitted big toe.

“No one is going to believe our stories are true!” Naomi declared

“But our stories did happen, in the past, here in Falkirk” replied Paul

“So how can we explain how we got to travel back in time?” Naomi asked

“You just need stick your head in a book or look on the web” Vikki suggested

Library – library – library…Paul remembered the old man’s chant on the bridge the night before…aye, he thought, good stories can certainly start in a library.

Vikki had another idea so she put up her hand:

“I wonder what other stories Falkirk folk could make up with these three objects – an eagle feather, a horse shoe and a big knitted toe?”

“They couldn’t be weirder that ours could they?” Naomi asked

Paul shook his head, he’d been to a fair few Sci-Fi and Vis-com conventions in his time and he knew that strangers things happened along Falkirk’s canals weirder things happened in ‘Area 51’ than even a librarian could ever dream of.

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Gambero Rosso. A Book Week Scotland Story by Jan Bee Brown

It was the white feather that caught the librarian’s eye…Naomi had picked up two books abandoned in the Library Staff Room and was about to return them to their rightful shelves when she noticed the feather was being used as a book mark in the book of Scottish Myths and Legends. She opened it up, it marked a page with instructions on ‘How to Kill a Kelpie’.

Now Naomi knew a little about Kelpies but had never thought she might need to kill one, it was late, she’d been running the Knit and Natter group and it was now time to lock up the library. She decided to take that book home, so she scanned it, placed it in her knitting basket and pulled the elasticated plastic cover tightly over the top against the rain.

She walked up the canal and the rain stopped and she noticed a woman dressed from top to toe in green sitting by some lock gates. Well top to ankle at least as she could not see her feet, the woman was wearing a long green-overall and a soft velvet hat in the centre of which was a strange brooch. She was knitting in the old fashioned way with 5 steel wires pointed at both ends’ in the round’. She was knitting something small, something pink and as she passed Naomi smiled and asked what the woman was knitting.

“I’m knitting a big toe,”

Now Naomi had knitted a good many strange things in her time, the library knitting group had once crocheted The Forth and Clyde Canal complete with knitted Navies, some swans and bees, lots of knitted bees and some of the towers of Grangemouth oil refinery complete with smoke, so this was not the strangest thing to knit. But Halloween had past and indeed why else would you need a knitted toe?

Naomi sat down for a natter and got her own knitting out, it was a sock, a stripy sock. She was using up the left over wool from the Library craft sessions.

The woman’s eye was drawn to Naomi’s basket where the book that had fallen open at the ‘How to Kill a Kelpie’ and suddenly a gust of wind blew up the canal and blew the feather bookmark up into the air. Naomi put down her knitting and chased after it but by the time she reached the bank it had floated into the middle and was starting to drift. Naomi was keen to get it back – that feather she knew was an Eagle feather and an Eagle was an endangered species and a full grown feather was rare – to be honest she was more interested in the mystery feather than in the book of Myths and Legends.

Naomi resolved to follow the floating feather but she needed her basket. She returned to the Lock to the woman who was knitting the big toe. As she bent down to pick up her basket she noticed that the woman had been kind enough to replace her half knitted sock in her basket next to the book.

“You’ll be needing this my dear…” she whispered and slipped a second book, a slim book a booklet into Naomi’s basket.

Naomi could just make out an X and a 5 and a 2 on the cover as she slipped the cover over the basket, she had no time to read any further if she was to follow the feather. Naomi waved her thanks and walked quickly up the canal.  As she passed the Pizzeria, she glanced at the sign:

“Don’t overlook the humble prawn”

Naomi giggled, she’d past the restaurant many times but not noticed the sign before. She reckoned that the feather would have stopped at the next set of lock gates and she could try and fish it out with a knitting needle and sure enough it was waiting for her caught in some waterweed. Naomi shuffled cautiously along the great wooden beam that dissected the canal and got down on her hands and knees the better to stretch out and reach the feather, but her arms just weren’t long enough so she turned back to get her basket perched on the top of the beam to pull out a needle and plop! The basket fell into the canal, she reached out to rescue her basket SPLASH!  Naomi grabbed the basket and sank to the bottom of the canal, she stood on the bottom knee deep in mud her long hair was swirling around head and then she realised that the lock gates were opening and with the force of the water she was washed out into the next stretch of the canal.

Now Naomi was good at swimming and she had no fear of water, but that basket acted like an anchor, it was dark and cold down there so she stood still and started to feel around her…her hand touched a cold something rough and bumpy like an iron surface. She felt along the sides to try and discover what it was. It seemed to her that this was a long tube, pointed at its end like a giant bullet, but who would need a bullet this big? Then she remembered that the factories that used to line the banks of the canal, The Falkirk Iron Foundry. The Carron Works had all been turned over to making bombs, munitions in The First World War.

Crikey! Perhaps this was a bomb or a giant shell? Her hands were trembling now but then they touched a smooth wheel the shape of the water stopcock under her kitchen sink, but this one was the size of a car steering wheel. She grabbed it with both hands and she turned it, it was heavy, it was rusty but Naomi was strong. With a rush of bubbles as a circular hatch opened and Naomi slid inside. Under the hatch there was another wheel, she slammed it shut and turned it, closing the hatch behind her to keep out the canal water.

Once inside she could hear ticking and a single red light blinked inside this giant iron tube. There was a forest of wires and pipe work that led to rows of switches and the pipes that lined the tube were pink with rust, they dripped and hissed and Naomi felt like she was in the belly of an Iron Giant. She felt around her, flicked a few switches and more lights came on, she discovered some writing on the inside of the tube; a name and a date:

“THE SHRIMP 1954”

Maybe she wasn’t inside a bomb? Maybe this was a submarine? If so she desperately needed some instructions…then she remembered the strange woman’s booklet and reached inside her basket and pulled it out:

X52 INSTRUCTIONS

She read it from cover to cover and located the ‘on’ switch, the dials and motors started up and she discovered that there was a periscope and another switch turned on a searchlight outside the sub like the headlamps on a car and if she took a look out of the periscope, she could see the underwater canal world outside. The Shrimp was soon moving through the murky water, she tried to remember how far it was to the next lock gate – she didn’t want to ram it.

How fast can a cast iron shrimp travel anyhow? She wondered.

She returned to the instruction manual to try and find out how to surface but everything she tried just made the shrimp submarine go faster – the needle on a gauge read 5.5 knots but Naomi wasn’t sure what Knots meant in terms of Horsepower. There was nothing for it so she decided to go with the flow, she looked through the periscope and she was amazed what was at the bottom of that canal.

A triangular men-at-work sign was stuck in the mud, although it might have been a man struggling to put up an umbrella? Shopping trolleys, old bikes, a birdcage with a parrot long extinct, even a gun floated past, an old pistol with a white hilt, the trigger glinted gold! Car tyres, cartwheels, a wagon wheel from an old Stagecoach! The further the midget submarine travelled the more ancient the rubbish seemed to become and then she saw it – a giant eye looking back at her directly into the periscope and it did not blink.

She brought the X52 to a halt, she cranked a brass handle and found that she could move the periscope 360 degrees and whilst she stayed still around her pranced ghost horses their manes and tails sparked and their muscular limbs glowed outlined against the black water. Wow! They were strong horses, they were big horses they must be Clydesdales Naomi thought, horses that used to pull the barges along the canals or pull the carts in the town. But then a third horse joined in their playful dance, but this was no workhorse, this was bigger and this horse had a silver harness on and this horse’s eyes were wild, Naomi was transfixed she had never seen such a beautiful beast… it opened its mouth, its yellow teeth and screamed…

Suddenly the submarine shot to the surface, the wheel above her head turned and Naomi looked up to see a full moon shining down on her, then a face peering down into the submarine hatch and a strong hand pulled Naomi out of the craft and she found herself sitting on the same lock gate where she had met the woman that evening. An owl hooted and she heard a bubbling sound she looked down to see The Shrimp – her red rust-bucket of a submarine sinking to the bottom of the canal, its shape glowing with phosphorescence.

Naomi turned to thank her rescuer, a young man with dark wet hair and round his neck she noticed a thick silver chain glinted in the moonlight.

“Goodness what’s your name and where do you come from?” Naomi asked

“Oh I’m not from anywhere, I’m a traveller, and my friends call me The Duke”

“ Well thank you very much Mr Duke for fishing me out of the canal!” Naomi replied.

“What are you doing, I mean where are you staying tonight? – You can come and stay in my garden if you want, I’ve got a tent and then you can continue on to… on to…tomorrow?”

“Aye, right.” He picked up his old leather saddlebag.

Naomi wondered how he could live out of just one bag. She put up her tent in the garden, ordered take away pizza and had hoped to sit in the garden and listen to his stories but she was tired. She made him a hot water bottle and gave him a pillow and a sleeping bag. As she wished him goodnight she noticed his necklace, it fascinated her, the links were thick and square she had never seen anything like it before.

She took her library book to bed, she didn’t expect to get further than a few pages before her eyes closed but as she read Scottish Myths and Legends she understood who he was, what he was, the traveller, The Duke

An owl hooted as Naomi tiptoed out into the garden, the stranger in the tent was snoring strangely a sort of whinnying sound.  She quietly opened the zip of the tent. The man inside was sleeping his mane of hair spread out on the pillow she’d given him and it was still wet…he turned over onto his stomach and Naomi noticed that he had a feather tucked behind his ear, the eagle feather she had followed! The clasp of the silver chain around his neck was within her grasp – Naomi knew what she had to do – she had read the instructions – she knelt down and undid the clasp with a click and the chain slithered into her hands – it was icy cold to the touch and then she watched as the stranger shape-shifted, out of the sleeping bag his neck started to stretch out and his shoulders grew broader and his long arms lengthened, his elbows and knees twisted around and his hands and feet became silver hooves. With a flick of his magnificent mane he leapt through the tent door jumped the hedge and galloped away. All that was left of the stranger was the eagle feather left on the pillow.

The next morning Naomi was smiling as she walked to work. Everybody complemented her on her new silver necklace, everyone in the Staff Room at tea break wanted to touch it and it was oh so cold to the touch!

“Where did you get such and unusual chain?” Vikki asked.

“I found it in the canal, I dropped my knitting and fell head over heels…SPLASH!”

Naomi told them all about her adventure in the giant shrimp and her colleagues laughed, others raised an eyebrow because Naomi had always been a good storyteller. Vikki noticed the book that she had been reading was still on the staff room table. The lucky feather she had found in her own hair a few nights before was still sticking out of it. She picked it up and opened the book at the feather, it marked a different chapter: ‘How to Capture a Kelpie’.

A set of instructions followed…a silver bridal…magic power’… Vikki knew that Naomi was one of the smartest Librarians and if anyone could tame a Kelpie it would be Naomi, for a Kelpie’s power lies in its silver bridal and that was now in Naomi’s possession.

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Whip-crack Away!

A Book Week Scotland Story by Jan Bee Brown.

The tunnel through Prospect Hill is haunted of course, this we know because digging a canal is a dangerous game. But hacking a tunnel through solid rock so that a rich man’s view isn’t spoiled – well no wonder the ghosts of dead workmen linger longer here in the longest canal tunnel in Scotland.

Aye but Old Copper Bottom – didn’t get to enjoy his perfect view for long, no Sir William Forbes was a haunted man and they buried him barely a year after the last pickaxe was put down… perhaps his ghost haunts the tunnel too…perhaps the ghosts of the murderers Burke and Hare join Sir William to admire their craftsmanship?

‘Possessions are mortal and all things pass us by’

The words hang over Copper Bottom’s mausoleum, his grave in Callendar Park, the words are quite correct… you may be a billionaire Billy but you cannae’ take it with you.

But if you walk the length of the tunnel watch out! Not only for the ghosts that walk the narrow footpath beside you – no, you need to keep watch on the canal that runs so quietly by your feet…watch out for the bubbles, a large eye rising to the surface and do not… I say again do not look back, keep walking for the beast that lies beneath the water is watching you, waiting for you and longing for you to join it beneath the surface for an adventure.

I say beast, but there are many beasts that haunt the canals of Falkirk…for under the water is where the Kelpies play with the ghosts of dead horses. The ghosts of famous horses graze on the weed, but the Kelpies feast on the remains of curious children, drunks tottering home from the pub, oh and a fair few librarians who like to jog along the towpath.

This is the story of one of them…

It was dark by the time Vikki got home, but she was keen to keep up her step count – the challenge was on at work and she couldn’t let them down. She shrugged off her lanyard and fed the cat, then slipped into her jogging bottoms and trainers. Coat, hat gloves, mobile, waterproof pouch in case of rain, ear-buds, she was ready. She locked the house and put her house key under the third plant pot from the door.

The canal stretched like a black vein as far as the eye could see, the path was slippery the trees were bare now, skeletal and autumn leaves floated on the surface of the canal. I’ll need to be careful not to fall in she thought. Then an owl hooted in the trees and a shiver ran down the back of her spine. She scrolled down to her favourite play-list and smiled as the keyboard riff of Crazy Horses squealed in her ears and she started to run – wow 1972 that really was a blast from the past!

The playlist of golden oldies had been a present from her son for a big birthday and as she ran, as she listened she travelled back in time in her mind.

When she reached the entrance to the tunnel she stopped to catch her breath. It was well lit these days and the LED lights changed colour – it reminded her of going to the Disco when she was a teenager. As she looked through the tunnel she could make out the silhouette of another jogger coming towards her so she waited… but the jogger stopped half way along the tunnel and they turned, leaned their back against the wall and bent over as if they could not breathe. She could hear their breath panting rasping echoing down the water towards her. The tunnel amplified the sound, perhaps they were ill, and perhaps they needed help?

Being the library first-aider Vikki decided to run to help the stranger, but as she got closer she realised that the man was not dressed in jogging gear. In fact he wore a large Stetson hat. His coat was covered in coloured beads and a line of soft leather fringing fell from the seams of his long arms. He looked up and Vikki thought that she had never seen such a handsome man in her life. He looked into her eyes and she was transfixed…

“Have you seen my horse?” he asked

“No… what kind of horse do you have?” Vikki wondered if he was joking.

Suddenly there was a bubbling noise behind her, in the canal, he stood up and his eyes grew larger, his face white with fear she turned her back to him to follow his gaze and there it was…a large eye ball watching them, it didn’t blink then a great nostril appeared and snorted then out of the depths the face of a great horse arose and bared its yellow teeth and let out a terrible scream…

As Vikki turned to run she realised she was trapped by the pair of long arms as the man leant over the railing of the towpath to look into the water, then he jumped onto the railing as if to leap into the cold canal.

“Stop! Don’t do it!” she cried and grabbed at him to save him from the icy water, but as her hand touched his boot she realised she was stuck to him. Her hand was locked tight to the boot, but then it started to slip from his foot and starting to fall, Vikki clutched at the tail of his jacket to steady herself only to realise that she was now stuck to his jacket – as if with superglue – then before her eyes he shape-shifted and reared up on two powerful hind legs, jumped the railing and Vikki found herself sitting on a leather saddle on the back of a horse disappearing into the black waters below…she clung to its long black mane as the weed rushed passed her.

Down, down, deeper and down they sped and the playlist in Vikki’s ear suddenly changed to drumming soft rhythmic drumming – a hundred drums pulsing, feet stamping and chanting in a language Vikki had never heard before.

Soon she saw the lock gates ahead and as they loomed above them the horse took a giant leap and cleared them and Vikki soared over them on the horses back taking a great gasp of air before they dived back into the canal. She held her breath as long as she could, but when she could no longer hold it in she panicked realising that she would drown. She opened her mouth to scream, but as she did so she realised that, on the back of this magic horse, sitting in this leather saddle, she could breathe under water.

On they sped through the water and the sound of the drumming in her ears got louder and faster she closed her eyes and then suddenly the horse came to a stop and Vikki felt fresh air in her lungs and the ground beneath her feet.  She opened her eyes and realised she was standing next to the tall stranger and her hand felt warm and safe in his hand.

It was raining and the grass beneath her feet was muddy she realised that she was still stuck to him, but she didn’t mind because he had brought her to what looked like a circus. A Grandstand lay before her in the shape of a giant horseshoe and the place was packed with thousands of folk, men in top hats who looked like they had been to a wedding, women were holding their long skirts above the muddy ground and children in tweed jackets and floppy caps sheltered under big black umbrellas.

The drumming was louder now in Vikki’s ears, the stranger pulled her arm and led her through the crowd to a circle of Tee-pee tents and there in the rain she watched the drummers leading the dancers in a circle. As they stamped in time to the beat the feathers in their headdresses bounced and swayed, Vikki had seen costumes like these in films before but never seen a tribal dance like this. She was pushed forward and she and the stranger joined in stamping and chanting round and around in circles.

As they danced the rain stopped and the sun came out and a great rainbow arched over the whole circus. They made their way to their seats as a brass band played a tune. Then the crowd went quiet and a single bugle call sounded: ’Boots and Saddles’.

Then out they rode, hundreds and hundreds of cowboys on the most magnificent horses and at their head was a man on a white horse, he had long white hair and his beard was pointed. He stopped in the centre of the arena and took off his hat. His horse reared up and then a shot rang out and a Stagecoach sped into the arena pulled by horses followed by the tribe she had seen dancing earlier now on horseback, whooping and screaming, holding bows and arrows.

A posse of cowboys rode in and chased the tribe and the crowd went wild… next up a cow girl dressed in red, with a long rifle, wowed the crowd with her skill, shooting at targets thrown into the air as she galloped around the arena. The stranger was starting to fidget beside her, he still held her hand and it was starting to annoy Vikki now because she wanted to clap. He pulled her up and out of her seat and she had to apologise to the other folk as they passed along the row of seats. At the end of the row a woman refused to budge, she was wearing a tight high-necked jacket and a soft velvet hat in the centre of which was a strange brooch.

She caught Vikki’s free hand and slid a small smooth item in her palm closing Vikki’s fingers around it: then bent down and whispered:

“You’ll be needing this my dear!”

Vikki thought she recognised the woman’s face from the library Knit and Natter group and smiled, but couldn’t stop to ask her to explain because she was being dragged out and back along the canal.

“Stop! Vikki cried and twisted round to look back at the tented structure – a painted sign that arched over the entrance to the arena read

“Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show”

“What year is it?”  Vikki wondered aloud. But a volley of shots rang out and she heard the roar of applause from the crowd. Then the stranger shape-shifted and she found herself back on the wild horse and as they leapt off the towpath and into the canal she felt waterweed tickle her face once more.

With one hand stuck to the mane Vikki realised she still had the woman’s gift clutched in her other hand, whatever it was it felt cold in her hand. It was a small tube pointed at one end, Vikki wasn’t sure what it was, a lipstick? A bullet? But what use was a bullet without a gun she thought then she looked down and saw there was a leather pocket, a saddlebag hanging by her knee. Putting the bullet between her teeth she reached under the leather flap and felt inside. There was a gun, a pistol. She pulled it out, held it by the hilt and clicked open the barrel with her thumb just like she had seen in the movies. Biting the bullet she pushed the pointed silver tube into one of the empty holes and clicked the barrel of the gun back into position as her finger found the trigger.

“Can a vegetarian shoot a horse? Can you even shoot a gun under water? The librarian in her wondered, but then the horse reared and with head above water Vikki saw the entrance to the tunnel.  In they went but she held the pistol above her head and squeezed the trigger – a shot in the dark – a cry for help – SOS! The bullet hissed through the air and ricocheted off the walls of the tunnel and suddenly Vikki was back on the towpath, she swung round just in time to see a burst of bubbles and one large eye, it blinked as it disappeared below the surface.

The gun was still in her hand she examined it – its grip was cream and cold to the touch, ornate patterns scrolled across the cylinder, the trigger was gold. Vikki shivered and threw the pistol into the canal in disgust.

She ran back home and had a long hot bath.

The next day she was in the Library early looking up Buffalo B – Buffalo Bill – William F Cody, he had come to Falkirk in 1904. Then she found a book on Scottish Myths and legends – stories of shape-shifters and it fell open on a page about Kelpies – ‘How to kill a Kelpie’ – like a Vampire, a Kelpie can only be killed with a silver bullet.

She settled down in the staff room with her books and had a celebratory biscuit with her cup of tea – well why not? Her team had won the step count challenge that week and with all that dancing the night before Vikki had the best score.