With a start Julian opened his eyes and looked at the pink painted plasterboard ceiling above him. For a moment he could not work out where he was and he lay there in a state of mental confusion trying to make sense of his surroundings. But the large bed was comfortable and the blankets warm, and just as he began to relax a moan from next to him made him stiffen. Turning his head he saw a shock of dark hair on the pillow next to him. The figure turned over to reveal its face, and with a sigh of relief Julian recognised his brother, Dick. Prodding him to make sure he was real, Dick responded to the firm digit with a muttered "Oh, Matron, not now," and turned over again, still deeply asleep. Julian was confused even as the room resolved itself in his mind into the one he and his brother always occupied at Kirrin Cottage. How had he got here? What about Flushing Manor and the curse of Alph? These questions fled from his mind as he heard giggling coming from the other side of the bedroom door. Anne’s voice called out, "Are you boys up yet? It’s a beautiful morning and breakfast’s almost ready." Timmy’s bark told Julian that his cousin George was also there, and sure enough, she made her own contribution to his alarm call. "Get up you lazy lot! My kidneys are getting cold!"

Julian threw back the covers and padded barefoot across to the window. Looking out he saw the familiar view of the green lawns, and, in the distance, the blue sea shimmering in the early sunshine. He turned back to see Dick sleepily push himself up onto one elbow and look at him. "I say, Ju, it’s a bit early for that!" Looking down Julian suddenly realised that he was stark naked, and he hurriedly moved to the chair and grabbed his pair of shorts. By the time he had pulled the rough material on Dick was into the bathroom, splashing merrily under the shower and singing his favourite little song about white rabbits and chocolate. The brothers soon swapped places, and the warm water brought some reality into Julian’s strange morning. That he was in the Cottage couldn’t be denied, and he pinched himself just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming. How had he got here? He recalled being led upstairs to the bedroom in the Manor, and the warm shower he had taken, but after that it was all confused. All he could grasp were fractured images that seemed somehow strangely familiar. He shook himself. Perhaps it would all be explained at breakfast. He finished rubbing the soap and, turning the controller to cold, rinsed himself down.

Breakfast was up to Joanna’s usual standard, and the trusty old cook had provided a veritable feast for both the eyes and stomach. As Julian entered the room he was momentarily startled to see Uncle Quentin sitting in his normal place at the head of the table. Aunt Fanny was standing at the sideboard spooning kedgeree onto her plate. His brother and sister were already sitting down, and George was trying to get Timmy to lie down at her feet. Julian made his way to his chair and plumped down onto the rush seat. His Uncle looked at him quizzically over the top of his horn-rimmed half-spectacles. "Sleep well, my boy?" he asked. "Er, yes, thank you, Uncle," replied Julian, trying to adjust to the normality. "Just that I thought I heard you prowling about in the night," said his Uncle. "I got up to investigate but only saw your door closing as I came out onto the landing." "Really?" said Julian. "I don’t remember anything about it." "Perhaps you were sleepwalking again," said Anne, helpfully. "You know, like the time the house-master found you in the Lower IV^th dormitory at four in the morning." "That was a one-off occasion" said Julian hurriedly, and perhaps a little too defensively. He saw Aunt Fanny’s eyebrows rise momentarily as she came to the table and plonked her plate of kedgeree and kippers down, but she made no comment. Dick came to his brother’s defence. "That was all cleared up, wasn’t it Ju," he said. "Old "Queenie" Windsor realised what had happened and didn’t take it any further." "That’s right," said Julian. "But," aid Anne, "didn't you have to go to his study every evening for a fortnight?" "That was to do with my Latin grammar," said Julian. That's right," said Dick. "He needed some private instruction to get it up to the level required to pass the test at the end of term." "I see," said Uncle Quentin, and he turned his attention back to "The Times" and his kidneys. Julian smiled gratefully at Dick and reached for the container of "Crispy Bits". Tipping the nuggets into his bowl and adding the creamy milk, delivered fresh that morning from the nearby farm, he looked at his Aunt. "And how’s Joanna getting on with the new help?" he asked, spooning the white sugar granules over his roughage. Aunt Fanny looked at him with a forkful of kedgeree halfway to her mouth. "What help, Julian?" she asked. "I don’t know anything about any help. Is this something you’ve arranged, Quentin?" Uncle Quentin peered over the top of the newspaper. "Eh? What’s that?" Aunt Fanny gathered up another forkful of kipper. "Julian says that you’ve hired some help for Joanna. Is this true?" "That’s not quite what I said," spluttered Julian, anxious that his Uncle shouldn’t go into one of his tempers just when he was starting his breakfast. He still recalled with horror the last time it had happened. It had taken three policeman and a nurse to sort things out, and he never did get his chipolata and two fried tomatoes that morning. Just then Joanna came into the room carrying a wicker basket containing her warm baps. Dick watched her with admiration, amazed at the trick. George looked up. "What’s this about you having some help in the kitchen, Joanna?" she asked. Joanna thumped the basket of bread down on the crisp white tablecloth and, as she did so, adjusted her ample bosom with her left forearm. Dick grinned. "What’s that, me dearie?" said the cook. "Help? I ain’t got no help. Never ‘ad no ‘elp. Don’t need no ‘elp either, unless," she shot a sideways glance at Dick with her one good eye, "it be with me plums, all that washing and rubbing." She grinned. "’Oo be saying I need ‘elp?" Aunt Fanny broke in. "No-one’s saying you need help, Joanna. Far from it. It’s just that Julian said that you’d got someone in the kitchen with you." "Oh, were’e?" replied the chef-de-cuisine. "An’ ‘ow would ‘e know then?" she asked, looking directly at Julian, who by now was wishing that he’s never raised the question. "I wasn’t," he burbled, "I mean, it’s just that, I thought perhaps, it seemed as if …" he faltered. "Have you got any help or not, Joanna?" asked Uncle Quentin directly. "Oh no sir, I don’t be needing any," replied the cook. "Then what’s all this about you getting some in the kitchen?" said Quentin, starting to get annoyed at the seemingly endless circle of question and denial. "Oi don’t know what you mean, zur, sure as I don’t," said Joanna, flashing a glance at Dick which he immediately understood as total denial of everything. "It be just me out there, me and the mangle, if you get my drift," and with this Joanna turned and flounced out of the room. Aunt Fanny breathed a sigh of relief. "There we are then," she said. "That’s alright. Now where did you get such an idea, Julian?" Julian felt more confused than ever. "Oh, er, it’s just a notion I had, Auntie," he said. "Notions should be kept where they belong, me lad," said Uncle Quentin from behind the newspaper. "I didn’t get where I am today by having notions. Brilliant world-shattering ideas and inventions maybe, but never just plain notions. Let that be an end to it." And it was. The rest of the meal was completed in silence, apart from the occasional "Pharrp!" as Timmy broke wind.

After breakfast the four children gathered outside in the garden underneath the old apple tree and upwind from Timmy. George looked at her cousin. "What was all that about, Ju?" she asked. Julian looked at her, and then at his brother and sister. "I don't know what's happening," he said, suddenly feeling faint. "Ooh, Julian," said Anne, "you've gone as white as shit." "It's "white as a sheet", you idiot," said Dick, pushing her to the ground in his usual rough way. "But she's right all the same," he continued, looking at his brother, who by now had also sat down on the grass. Julian's eyelids fluttered. "I do feel a little queer, actually," he said. George crouched down beside him. "That what I always suspected," she said. She put her hand on his forehead. The touch produced a violent shiver that ran throughout Julian's body. "You are a bit cold, though," said George. "And you're shivering. Do you want Timmy to lie on top of you to warm you up?" As much as part of him responded favourably to this suggestion, Julian knew that it wasn't what was needed right now to move the adventure towards its conclusion. "No thanks, George," he said, lying down. "I'll be alright if I just lie here for a minute or two." The other children looked at him with puzzled expressions. This was very unlike Julian. He was always the most upright and solid of them all. Dick gave the girls the finger, and they moved a couple of yards away out of Julian's hearing. "What's wrong with him?" asked Anne, feeling a bit wimpy and close to tears, for she knew that this was the sort of reaction expected from her. "I've only seen him like this once before," said Dick. "Last term, the morning after a midnight feast in the Upper V^th dorm. He'd had one too many glasses of Cream Soda, and he came over all limp just after breakfast. He had to go to Matron, and she couldn't do a thing with him for more than an hour." "That's unusual in itself," said George, "from what I've heard about your Matron. She's got quite a reputation at our school. Lots of the girls talk about her as if she's some sort of goddess." Dick smiled. "A bit statuesque, maybe," he said, "but not all of her's made of stone." George grinned. "Sounds as if that's a comment from personal experience, Dick," she said. Dick picked up a dried and crusty cowpat and flung it playfully at her. George dodged it neatly, but unfortunately it hit Timmy squarely on the nose. The next five minutes were spent trying to clear his nostrils with a twig, and stopping Anne from losing her breakfast over the green sward. Throughout all this Julian lay quite still and gathered together his thoughts. At last he sat up and the other children looked expectantly at him. "I think I've got it all worked out now," he said. "We need to have a long talk."

Two hours later, when Julian had finished telling the others all his memories of the day before, the four children sat in silence and looked at each other. Such was their consternation that Dick even ignored Timmy's exploration of the bottom of his shorts. It was George who broke the silence. "Ooops! Excuse me!" she said, and the others waited for the air to clear. Finally Dick looked at Julian. "If what you say is true, Ju, then how is it that we don't recall anything of it?" "That's right," agreed Anne. "If we'd all been assaulted like that, don't you think we'd remember it?" Julian picked a blade of grass and was about to chew it, ruminatively, when he noticed a fragment of cowpat clinging to its edge and he threw it down again. "Not necessarily," he said. "I've read all about these strange cults and their techniques." "We know," said George. "We found the magazines. I remember those!" Julian blushed but continued. "One of the things that this sect of Alph do is something called "Spaying in the Spirit" which emasculates the mind. There was an article on it in one of the Comparative Religion books in the School Library. They believe that when they lay hands on a person's head, the inner animal is released which wipes away the old self. In its place a new creation is made, and it's not uncommon for there to be a loss of memory along with it. I think that's what happened to us yesterday." George looked at him. "Then why weren't you affected, Ju? If what you say is true, then all of us were spayed." Dick looked down at his shorts where Timmy was nuzzling. Happily he realised that the experience had not permanently affected him in any way. "It's got something to do with my Catholic beliefs, I think," replied Julian. "After all, I am a Third Order member of the Holy Hankie of St. Veronica, and I know the liturgy like the back of my hand. It'll take more than a quickie from some charismatic to change my mind about the true faith." George stood up. "Well," she said, digging her hands deeply into the pockets of her shorts, "I think it's a load of old tosh!" The others looked at her. "I mean to say," she continued, "look at it logically. Ju's trying to tell us that we were all captured by a strange religious cult and were brainwashed, when the facts just don't bear this out." Dick looked at his brother. "I have to say, Ju, that I'm in agreement with George. After all, where's this Alice you talked about? Neither Uncle Quentin nor Aunt Fanny have ever heard of her, and you know how possessive Joanna is about her kitchen. She'd never let anyone else in there to help her." "Not unless," said Anne, "it was to wash her soft fruits." "Exactly," said George. "There's just no evidence that any of this happened. Look, we're all here, perfectly safe, and what's more," she said, pointing towards the garden shed, "look over there. Even our bikes are by the shed where they should be. If all this stuff had happened, wouldn't they still be at Flushing Manor?"

Julian looked at the others and sighed. He had to admit that what they were saying was perfectly true, and as the morning had worn on he had found it increasingly difficult to believe that any of what he remembered had really happened. "I know," he said, "and you're right, I suppose. It must have been a dream, but it was all so real. I've never had such an intense experience before." Dick nudged his brother in the ribs with his elbow. "Not even with Horace Flimpy?" he said. "Who's Horace Flimpy?" asked George, pushing Timmy off her left leg for the third time. "Oh, just a chap in the same Biology class as me," said Julian. "I don't really know him all that well." Dick grinned. "That didn't seem to stop you last half-term," he said. "Oh!" said Anne. "Was he the boy you told me about, Ju?" Julian nodded. George looked at Anne for an explanation. "He was helping Ju with his experiments," said Anne. "There was something he had to do which required another pair of hands." George flashed a look at Julian. "It was to hold the tweezers!" exclaimed Julian. "I couldn't hold the specimen and strip off the skin at the same time." "I wish I'd never asked," said George, feeling slightly sick. Dick suddenly pulled his T-shirt over his head and stood there with his bare chest catching the mid-morning sunlight. "Come on," he said. "It's a lovely morning, and I feel like going for a swim. Are you coming?" Anne and George cried "Yes!" in unison, and even Julian felt the weight of his memories lift at the sight of his brother. He stood up. "Okay," he said. "Let's go!" and together the children ran down onto the beach behind Kirrin Cottage with Timmy snapping at their heels. Soon they were merrily splashing about in the water. Anne swam over to George who was floating on her back. "This is just perfect," she said. "What a lovely way to spend our holiday." George smiled and turned over. As she swam gently for the nearby rocks the sun glinted off the old ruins on Kirrin Island, her island. Anne was right. It was a lovely way to spend time together. Dick and Julian swam side by side back to the sandy beach. Picking up their towels they swiftly dried themselves on the coarse cotton. Soon their skin was glowing, and putting on his shorts Julian looked out to where George and Anne were sitting on the rocks. They waved, and he waved back. He looked at his brother who was pulling his T-shirt over his head once more. It was good to be here, all together again. The others were right. It had all been a dream. Nothing had happened, and nothing was going to happen to spoil their holiday if he could help it. He smiled to himself and looked at Dick. "Come on," he said, "let's go back to the Cottage and ask Joanna to make us four mugs of her wonderful hot chocolate." The two boys picked up their towels, signalled to the girls where they were going, and ran up to the path that led up the cliffs.

At the end of a perfect day Julian lay on his bed thinking. Dick was fast asleep next to him, and from the next-door room her could hear Anne and George quietly talking, the way girls do. The occasional "thumpety-thump" on the floor told him that Timmy was also there, lying in his usual place beside their bed. The memories of his dream had started to fade, and the details were less and less clear. It had all been very odd indeed, but he was glad that none of it had really happened. After all, thinking about it, there were several things that had been wrong. How had his uncle and aunt managed to disappear from inside their locked bedroom? That had never been answered. And then in Chapter 3, when Dick and Anne had found the back door to Flushing Manor, it had been half-open. But when they returned there in Chapter 4, with George, it had been closed. No doubt there were other anomalies, but they too could be put down to the fact that it had all been a figment of his imagination. No dream was entirely logical. It shifted its perspective. It allowed you to watch events from the viewpoint of others. You could fall through glass and not get injured, as he himself had done. He sighed and turned onto his left side and snuggled down. He was tired, and yet, as he lay there something was nagging at his mind. After a few minutes he sat up. "It's no good," he thought, "I've just got to find out the truth," and silently he got out of bed, slipped on his dressing gown and opened the bedroom door. Moving along the landing he went down the stairs. A light showed from under the Library door, and from within Julian could hear the voices of his uncle and aunt. He crept forward and listened.

"We've had a narrow escape there," said Uncle Quentin. Aunt Fanny's voice answered. "It's just that Julian's such an intelligent boy. I was sure he would work things out." "Oh no, me dearie," came the reply, which Julian immediately recognised as being the voice of Joanna. "He's been a-persuaded by the others that it were all a dream 'e were 'aving." At this Julian stiffened and grasped hold of the Victorian what-not next to him, his eyes widening with shock. "Oi don't mind a-saying that I thought it were all up when he mentioned me 'aving some 'elp in the kitchen, I did. But then you's both 'andled 'im very well." "With your help, Joanna," replied Uncle Quentin. "After all, you've managed to keep Alice out of sight all day. How is she?" "She be foine," replied the cook. "A-singing choruses to 'erself all day, she has." "Excellent," said Aunt Fanny. "But I suppose we're going to have to deal with him properly before too long." "By this time next week," said Uncle Quentin, "he be raising his arms and barking like a dog like the rest of us. After all, the others were easy to turn to the way." "Alleluia!" said Aunt Fanny. "Bless 'em," drawled the cook. "Then we'll all be family together, won't we, united in the one true expression of faith."

Stepping back in shock, Julian collided with the brass spittoon that stood by the side of the hatstand, and the loud clang echoed around the hallway. The voices inside the Library broke off and within seconds the door was flung open by Uncle Quentin. Julian stood there, dressing gown flapping open, looking at his uncle. Seeing him, Aunt Fanny gave a small scream, whilst Joanna smiled. Grabbing him by the shoulders, Uncle Quentin pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him, clicking over the lock. Julian looked at the familiar faces and then at the long table that was normally piled high with dusty volumes and papers used by his uncle. Now, however, it had been cleared of all the usual paraphernalia, and empty plates and glasses were ranged along its length. "Now, my boy," said Uncle Quentin, picking up a small black volume from his chair, "I think we'd better pray about this." As the adults all closed their eyes and began murmuring in unknown tongues, Julian realised the awful truth. It hadn't been a dream after all. It had really happened, and the others had all been converted. Only he was left. Just one lone voice of tradition against the clamour of charismatic glossolalia. He put his hands over his ears to try and shut out the guttural sounds. Only the liturgy of the church could save him now, and he began reciting the Third Collect from the BCP order for Evening Prayer. "Lighten our darkness we beseech thee, O Lord, and by thy mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night …. " Outside in the garden an owl hooted. The silver moonlight reflected off the soft waves breaking on the beach, and down the lane a lone cyclist pedalled furiously towards Kirrin Cottage. The Revered Jeremiah Castanet, Vicar of St. Pulcheria in the Benefice of Kirrin and Flushing clutched his BCP to his chest with one hand and the handlebars with the other. He hoped he was going to be in time.

With a start Julian opened his eyes and looked at the pink painted plasterboard ceiling above him. For a moment he could not work out where he was and he lay there in a state of mental confusion trying to make sense of his surroundings. But the large bed was comfortable and the blankets warm and all seemed right with the world. A moan from next to him made him stiffen. Turning his head he saw a shock of dark hair on the pillow next to him. The figure turned over to reveal its face, and Julian felt his head spin as Joanna smiled at him. "Good morning, me dearie," she said. "And 'ow's we this foine morning?" Julian felt the contents of his stomach rise. It was all too much. Would this nightmare never end? Swiftly, Joanna picked up one of the pillows and held it over his face, pressing down with all her gargantuan weight. The world went black …..

Julian opened his eyes and for a moment wondered where he was. The pink ceiling was momentarily unfamiliar to him, and reminded him of the bedroom of his friend at school, Angus MacTavitt, whose preference for pastel shades of emulsion had got him into trouble with the Prefects on more than one occasion. He remembered one incident …