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Book One World War Three 1946

Book One World War Three 1946
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Friday, October 19, 2012

50 Berkeley Square

The noise down in the basement was very unusual. For the last couple of lifetimes things had been very quiet down there. I just had to go down and see what was going on. I chose the usual way and went through the top 3 floors without drawing so much as a glance. One of the women who was making the most noise in the basement suddenly stopped and looked around. I guess she was one of those people who can sense things. Seeing nothing she went back to work.

They had gutted the whole basement and were putting in large tables and huge charts on the wall. I think they were putting in strings for those things they call phones and the noise was deafening.

I was not use to the noise. For a very long time I had the home to myself for the most part. Every once in a while someone would move in but eventually they would leave or die. I’ve had quite a few die in the house over the years. Many seemed to stay despite whatever I could do to dissuade them from remaining. They tried to ignore me for the most part. Children seemed particularly fascinated with me.

This new lot was particularly involved in what they were doing. It had been a long time since any improvements had been done to the home. I did not think what they were doing was an improvement. All these little rooms with a desk and phones…dozens and dozens of phones all connected by those strings or wires I guess you call them. I am learning many new words. Such things as yaks and squadrons, some really interesting terms and names are very intriguing.

The other day they were mentioning Listening Posts. Can you imagine a post with ears? Why would you have such a thing or just now they were talking about Spitfires. That must be a horrible thing: Something that spits fire on the loose and apparently is flying around. From what I can gather there are a lot of things flying around that are not birds out there. I cannot look outside to see for myself.

It seems the basement has been turned into a kind of headquarters for some kind of fighting. They have put down large maps of what I assume is Britain and the women are moving around and listening to something though contraptions they have about their heads. Apparently they can speak and hear something or someone that tells them to move little pieces of wood around on the maps using long thin sticks with a little hoe at the end. They push these wood blocks around and others watch them and then the men rush off to talk into those phones. So far the majority of the blocks have stayed in France from what I can figure out.

I remember another time when what sounded like explosions shook the house. Sometimes for what seemed like hours. Then the sirens would stop and all would be quiet. I wonder if that was going to happen again? I don’t get much excitement in my existence anymore. I had long ago stopped thinking of the reasons for my existence and just continued being.

English is not my native language or I should say this version of English. I can catch some of the words but much of what is said is beyond my comprehension. I believe I have lost the ability to learn. This is most annoying considering that 3 of the upstairs floors are filled with books. I very rarely come down from the 4th floor and even more rarely come out of the room but the noise down the basement was too much of a temptation.

The air shaft provides a convenient passageway down and saves me from the look of horror when I am seen. I can be seen or not seen at my discretion but I prefer not to be touched. So the air shaft is a perfect conduit to the goings on in the basement. I will state most emphatically here and now that I do regret the deaths I have caused. Some were not my fault but one was. You see I can see into the hearts of the sentient beings I come in contact with. That is why I do not like to be touched or to touch anyone.

The person I killed or should I say frightened to death was a monster. Some drunk sailor that has just horribly raped a young girl as he had done many a time before. This time she had died. At the age of 13 she had been used and then strangled and then mutilated by this butcher. Shortly after this horrific deed he ended up stumbling into my room along with his partner. I was so startled by their sudden appearance that I was touched by him. I then saw what he had just done. So I made myself known and he died of fright I guess you would say. His friend escaped.

One of the men down in the basement almost reeked of malevolence. He was an evil man. I was very tempted to make myself known to him down in the basement but for some reason I felt it was against some unwritten rule. He was going or had done something very heinous to the others in the room and also to many others. He was going to cause the deaths of many yet would also save many; an interesting outcome that I did not quite understand. In war one sometimes forgets that there are two or more sides and when one side wins the others lose and the death of one can save the lives of many. This man I would have liked to meet face to face in the room upstairs.

I have overheard and understand that I am quite famous in certain quarters. The current residents in the lower 3 floors do not bother me but run their book business and leave me alone. I do prefer this. I really do not like frightening people. My home is called the most haunted house in London. I suppose I should be flattered but I do not know my role in the grand scheme of things. Why am I trapped here? What is my purpose? Have I been here for decades to just frighten to death that sailor? How do I find release and peace?
My address is 50 Berkeley Square London, England. Do not drop by for a visit. You will most likely be sorely disappointed…or depending on what is in your heart…possibly not.

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