Monday Morning November 3rd, 2025
I remember it vividly. We awoke around seven in the morning. One of those awakenings that is immediate and bright. Full cognition. And in dire need of a pee and a coffee.
Alison beat me to the bathroom, so I did the barista duties. Kettle and mugs and spoonfuls of granules and sugar. The pod machine had packed in a couple of months ago and we had not yet reached agreement on what sort to buy next, it was a very crowded market! I really wanted a big Italian monster machine that did anything you could want for but frankly, they terrified me. My son’s machine made an amazing morning coffee for him, but neither I or his wife could successfully negotiate with it. Alison’s choice of a strong granule with sugar and milk meant that she was not of any real persuasion and preferred the kitchen top space left by no machine at all.
Carrying the mugs to the sofa and placing them on the small tables at each end was a definite statement of intention from me. We were not going to laze an hour in bed, then languish another hour dressing and breakfasting. No, today was going to be business like, clean and meaningful.
“OH! I was thinking coffee in bed with the news channel on. Other ideas have we mister?” Alison drawled as she stumbled in to the lounge. Maybe I was the sole supporter of my thoughts of a quick start to the day.
“Though I suppose it is Monday, and we do have stuff to do.” There was silence while she sat and looked at me, still stood up. Then;
“Do we have stuff to do Ken?”
“I’m not sure what we should do.” I answered her honestly. “Yesterday was intriguing to say the least. I’m worried that we have opened a box that we can’t now shut. Telling Rhys was a good thing to do, but, I’m not completely sure that it wasn’t also the worst thing we could have done. I’ve a feeling that if we told no-one, we could have just left it, half forgotten about it and kept it as an interesting thing to chat about every now and then. But now it aint going away. Rhys seemed like a decent chap. But he is in the business of tales and folklore and history. He thrives on stuff like this because it keeps the things he is interested in, alive and talkaboutable.”
“Wow – ‘talkaboutable’ great phrase.”
“D’yer like it?” I laughed with her. I was famous in my own house for making up words. And why not? The English language just doesn’t have enough words in it!
“Anyway, back to the matter in hand please. What exactly are we to do next.”
I sat on the sofa, grabbed my mug and took a series of small sips before one giant, throat-burning slug.
“Next – I think I’m making porridge! You want?”
“Ooh lovely, I’m in on that please. With cream and syrup please.” Alison loved porridge, but hated making it.
By nine-thirty we were abluted, fed and dressed. We had things to do that day so we got on and set off to do them. I dropped Alison off at the Dr’s surgery for blood tests, then drove over to the garage we had bought the car from to have them look at a knocking noise that developed the previous week from the front of the car. These electric cars looked like a space ship to me, and frankly, it was so quiet, that when it did make a noise it was terrifying. Turns out a field mouse had got inside the casing and managed to die next to one of the few moving parts. Who knew that could happen? I signed the job sheet, promised to give them a five star rating on ‘the web’ and set off back to pick Alison up.
As I drove the ten miles back home, I suddenly realised that although I had not been giving the events of the last few days much conscious thought, at the back of my mind the questions and ideas and memories were growing in intensity. I pulled over when I found a layby and turned off the engine, thinking that a few minutes just sitting there, quietly, might help me find some clarity.
I fell asleep!
Of course I did.
I was the man who never stopped moving, doing, talking etc…etc. But sit me down, give me nothing to think about, and…….ZZZZZZZ.
I awoke with a start when someone began knocking on the window my head was leaning against. It was a police man. In fact it was a policeman I knew. I wound the window down and we chatted a bit.
“Oh its you Ken! Bit tired were we? Hope it isn’t an alcoholic nap you were having!”
“Naah, just got some stuff on my mind Ioan, stopped because I felt I needed a think, fell straight asleep. Been here about ten minutes I guess…” I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “Whoa, is that the time?” The clock steadfastly showed 14:28. I had slept for nearly two hours. Impossible.
“What time do you have it as Ioan please?”
“Two-thirty mate. What time were you expecting ken?” He eyed me warily for the first time.
“I left Jagger’s Garage at eleven-fifteen Ioan. Straight from there, and parked here, can’t have been much after, what eleven-thirty-five? Oh My God, I’ve just had a two hour nap!”
“You ok? Do I need to drive you home Ken? Are you safe to drive home?” He stared dead into my eyes. I motioned for him to move back a bit and opened the door and got out. “No I’m fine, honest. Not been drinking. Not ill at all, just had some stuff going on and I think it has built up and the quiet and warmth in the car has just lulled me to sleep. You can breathalyse me if you want Ioan, not a problem, and it’ll make you look as if you did the right thing mate. Officer!” I laughed. He laughed.
He went to get the apparatus!
Five minutes later, he had given me a can of fizzy pop from his lunchbox, done his checks and ensured I was safe to continue my journey. Apologising throughout, though I assured him it was fine. I had told him about our lunch over in Caernarfon with Rhys and he knew the pub, asked if we had tried the lamb, and suggested that there was no better Sunday dinner available. I had agreed.
“Well Sir, all seems to be in order, thank you for your time and compliance, but you cannot be too cautious nowadays.” We laughed, shook hands and each got in our car. I let him turn around and waited till he sped off before buckling up and starting the engine. All the way home I wondered about what had happened, and also kept getting flashbacks of a dream or some memory from when I was asleep, but nothing clear.
As I drove back into the village, I remembered that Alison wasn’t at home, so stopped and gave her a quick ring.
“Blimey Ken, where are you? I was beginning to think you’d run off with the receptionist from the garage!” “She said No, again!” I replied. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there. Where are you?” “You’ve not read your messages have you Mr Freedall! I met Sally from the WI and came to hers for lunch. We are sat here discussing the menopause and how to make Bara Brith. She has given me a copy of her Gran’s recipe.” “Sally’s. Right. I’m on my way, six minutes!”
I blew her a kiss, put the phone back on it’s holder and drove to the other end of the village.
Sally had insisted I had a cup of tea, and a slice. I did not argue and enjoyed the sugar rush it gave me. After, we said our goodbyes and walked to the car, got in and I set off driving home. We chit chatted on the way, I didn’t want to scare Alison and concentrated on getting us home. But it was obvious that she was expecting something good!
“So, where did you go?”
We were sat in the lounge, I was slumped, and to be honest still felt a bit groggy. I looked at her.
“Car is fine. There was a field mouse died in the engine casing somehow. Bloody unbelievable. Anyway, I set off from the garage at about eleven-thirty-five, drove half way, stopped to have a think, in a layby, and was rudely awoken by Ioan Hughes banging on the window – at two-thirty!” “Two hours later? Ken, you slept in the car for two hours? Are you ill? Do you feel ok?” She jumped up and came to sit with me as she held my face and looked at me. “I feel a bit tired, groggy, that’s all. Nothing wrong. Wasn’t tired, just felt like I needed a few quiet moments sat there. Didn’t know how long I was there either. I’m lucky it was Ioan who found me, but I got him to breathalyse me so he knew there was nothing underhand going on. He gave me a fizzy drink and chatted to me while I came round. Offered me a lift home too.”
“And you’re definitely ok now Ken? Are you sure? Do you want anything?”
“No, no. I’m fine. Full from Sally’s Bara Brith, how good is that?!”
We chatted for a bit and she fussed a bit more, until she was sure I was alright.
Then it was back to business. Alison had been asking about more than cake while at Sally’s. She had asked if there was any history of paranormal sightings or happenings in the area. Sally had told her about three instances she knew of off the top of her head. None were connected to ours though, and even though they were all quite interesting individually, we concluded that two were merely gossip, and one was probably a piece of ancient local character assassination. So that was that. We decided to get on with some household chores and reconvene at tea time in the kitchen with a brew and a sandwich.
It was closer to seven o’clock when we finally met back in the kitchen. We had a wonderful way of leaving each other alone while we did stuff. Not everything, we mostly spent our days side-by-side, chipping away at the world, but we also made sure we both had time alone, if we needed it. I had sorted a box of books left over from a jumble sale months before. We couldn’t stop buying books, either of us, and over half the wall space in the house was taken over by bookshelves. After that I had cleaned out the boot of the car, fixed a broken catch on the side gate-to-nowhere, found some newish bottles of car shampoo in a cupboard and stuck the pieces of broken antique plate back together. All good, solid manly jobs. Alison had wasted her time away doing ironing, cleaning the bathroom and making us both a sandwich, with a cup-a-soup. Cheese and a tomato soup for her, Red Fox Leicester cheese for me with a noodle hot and sour soup. Lovely!
As we sat drinking coffee after eating, I asked; “Fancy a drive out? Just a mooch around the area for an hour if you want!”
“You sure you’re ok to drive out Ken? Wouldn’t we be better staying in tonight and watching something with Olivia Coleman on Netflix?”
“You are probably right. Good idea. You sort out the telly and I’ll wash up. Meet you in the lounge.”
It probably was the better idea I thought. A nice quiet evening on the sofa with your wife was never to be sniffed at!
By eight-thirty we were snuggled up on the sofa with the lights low, the TV too loud and the curtains drawn. The series she had chosen was an Irish drama telling the story about a gang from the Crumlin Estate who turned into life savers when there was a crash involving a German bomber returning from a raid on Liverpool in January 1942. Riveting stuff. As the credits rolled along at the end of the first episode, Alison arose and went off to make a drink. I sat alone on the sofa contemplating life, and wondering whether there was football on that evening.
There was a scream. From the kitchen. I ran there in an instant.
Alison was stood, her back up against the kitchen door, which was open. The sensor-lights on the lawn throwing her shadow into the kitchen and onto the side cabinet. I stopped still, a shout of “WHAT..” caught on my lips as I viewed the scene through the door. Alison was rigid with what I could only assume was fear, as she in turn stared at the tableau of bodies wrangling on the lawn. I ran to her side and pulled her to me, wrapping her in my arms, but never taking my eyes away from the view, which drew our attention. A woman, (The woman, I somehow knew,) was writhing on the ground, as a young female attendant slowly pulled a tiny bundle of pink, struggling and screaming, out from the woman’s body. A pink chord joining the two was cut with a sword by the attendant, and tied on the baby’s end. For it was identifiable now as a baby. I stood watching as the scene unfolded. The mother was visibly torn between her obvious hatred and loathing for the child, and a love for the child too, because it was beautiful, and hers. A voice of sorts boomed around the garden, holding what sounded like a conversation, but with itself;
“Why can I not just kill the wretch now?” “Because as hated as it is, it is still your son!” “I hate it!” “I love it!”
“I wish not to see it from today, but cannot for some reason kill it!” “How can I be rid of the cursed seed?”
“I will conceal it in a bolgos, and float it down stream, then the fates will decide if it should live on or die, not I!”
At this the attendant took the baby, wrapped it in cloth, hid it in a large skin bag and sealed it with a knot. she then carried it reverentially and kneeled by a brook that had apparently started to flow through our garden from the house next door. I looked at Alison and she just shook her head and we both looked back at the garden. The bag was floating away towards the end of our lawn, with the two women holding on to each other and weeping unconsolably. They both seemed oblivious to our watching them, until Alison suddenly coughed, and at that the women turned as one and glared directly at us. We grabbed each other harder, but were unable to speak or move. The woman stood up straight and erect, pushed the other behind her, and began to walk slowly towards us. There was a silence sweeping over the area, and a coldness that started to bite into our limbs, but still we were static as if glued to the spot. At the bottom of the stone steps, she stopped, looked to us and pointed at us, her glare holding us entranced.
“Whate’er demons ye be, know this, that Ceridwen was merciful to the spawn, and has bequeathed their future to lady luck. Should the child live, he shall be clever and witty and named for his shining disposition.”
With that she turned from us, rejoined the younger woman and they disappeared into the dividing wall between our house and Alan Wood’s next door.
We couldn’t move. Alison was trembling as I held her, but suddenly started laughing uncontrollably. Tears ran down her face and she bawled and sobbed and laughed, all at the same time. I just held her, kissed her forehead and stared at the wall and the garden. The sensor-light flicked off, then back on as a cat wandered across the lawn right in front of us. It stopped moving for a few seconds when it noticed us both stood in the house doorway, watching it. It was from further down the road. It knew us. It ate here regularly. It made the miaow noise that signalled “Nothing to see here people!” to us and finished its march across our property, leapt onto the gate I had earlier mended and disappeared. We stayed motionless. Alison was still laughing, but in the mumbled, held in way. The light went off again and stayed off until we moved, which we did quickly, getting back inside the kitchen and closing and locking the door. I sat Alison down at the table, flipped the kettle on and went to retrieve my bottle of Cognac from the lounge cupboard. I poured two hefty portions into two crystal glasses, smothered them in boiling water and handed one to Alison, placing it between her fingers and thumb. I burned my tongue with mine, and was glad for the pain it brought. I sat next to Alison, listening, and we stayed that way for ages. Sipping. Sniffing and wiping our noses. Wordless. Thoughtless. Terrified. Excited.
“What the actual F was that then?” Alison spluttered at me. Her eyes showed terror and an excitement that I was scared to look at too long. I grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “Are you ok? I think I’m starved. You want toast?” “Yes I do! Loads of it, with sweetness. Honey and jam, and lots of butter. and more hot toddy brandy please. What the hell Ken, I feel elated and worried and ecstatic and scared all at the same time. I’m cold and hot and my legs are wobbling. look at my hands – they’re shaking.”
I made toast in bulk on the grill. I rubbed her shoulders and fetched her a throw to wear round her. I made more hot cognac. We ate and drank until we felt high and needed to sleep, then we walked hand in hand up to the bedroom, cuddled up and fell fast asleep.
**********************************
And that as they say, was that.
We awoke the next morning with terrible headaches, again. Ken as usual was up first, and by the time I wandered downstairs he had already emailed Rhys and conveyed his memories of the evening. When I arrived at the kitchen table, met by bacon and eggs and a couple of crumpets, He was in the middle of an email marathon with Rhys as they messaged back and forth with questions, answers, counter questions and ideas. Rhys, as ever, was serious and interested and informative. His decision and belief that we had witnessed the birth and casting out of the baby who would become the Great Bard ‘Taliesin’ from the sixth century was complete. Not an inference that we were making it all up, or just drunk. He believed Ken’s story and was helping him look for possible reasons to answer, “Why?“
I ate slowly, still full of toast, and yet famished! I listened as Ken spoke and typed, and read aloud Rhys’s words. I marvelled at how normal my husband seemed that morning.
When they finally signed off, with promises to speak later in the week, we finished breakfast in silence and then sat talking together for about an hour. We decided that we would keep a low profile for a bit, and see what else happened.
Nothing else did.
Nothing at all.
We met up with Rhys later that same week and he recorded an interview with the two of us. It covered everything that had happened from Halloween on the Friday, right through to the episode on the Monday night. We answered his questions and detailed what we could remember. We offered no answers or suggestion of the meaning of it all, or why us, or anything other than what we saw, heard and felt. He further explained the significance of the tales of Ceridwen and Gwion Bach and Taliesin, and the place in Welsh Mythology they held. We signed a document that he had drawn up that allowed him to retell our story, and that he would use it for research and other purposes whilst keeping our actual names out of it. He assured us of his gratitude for our trust in him, and then we all left.
Ken and I carried on with our lives and nothing of the sort ever happened again.
Or at least not yet. Obviously we are a week away from this year’s Halloween, so we have made our plans a few weeks ago. On Thursday evening we drive to Manchester airport, board a plane to Tenerife and don’t come home till the following Tuesday. Ken says he’s looking forward to a little sunshine and mooching on the beaches. I don’t care where we go, as long as we go somewhere – else!
“Happy Halloween” or maybe, “Nos Galan Gaeaf Hapus” with apologies to any Welsh readers.
