The Search (Out-take)

Hermit is Denise’s prompt word for this week’s Six Sentence Stories. This story is an early draft for inclusion in Clark and my Serial Six story ‘Of Heroes and the Misunderstood’ that never made it…

‘That receptionist was useless,’ Moonbeam grumbled as he walked along a pedestrianised street toward Greenton town centre, ‘and to answer your question, Bubblegum, before you even ask, no, I left him awake because he’s a fan.’

‘Oh puh-leeeaaase…’ the tinny sounding voice in his ear mocked, before continuing, ‘Matthew has now traced her mobile to The Grecian Urn, a bar restaurant type thingy on… Matthew, your handwriting’s terrible… it looks like Ugly Row – sorry, Moonbeam, it’s Tiglan Row, he’s telling me.’

‘Get your act together you two,’ Moonbeam barked, ignoring the odd glances of a couple who walked passed him in the opposite direction as he did so, ‘and you’re sure she’s there this time?’

Thirty minutes later, Moonbeam found Tiglan Row, one of the eight tiny alleyways off the Main Street, and, as it happened, the eighth one he checked.

He found the Urn a lot easier, next door to the boarded-up Hermit’s Rest public house, and walked in through the two out-of-place marble pillars that flanked the double black doors, which were both propped open by a topiary tree each.

‘Good evening, sir,’ the hostess checked her watch as she eyed her customer up and down, ‘have…’, but before she could finish her sentence, Moonbeam drew down some of his dark energy into his left hand, flicked it onto the chest of her pristine white blouse, and left her slumped over the podium fast asleep as he walked inside.