Witch Hunt - By Syd Moore Page 0,76

purposely left only one lamp on to encourage sleep.

When it first happened I thought it was because it was attracted to the brightness of the screen: a black moth alighted on the top right-hand corner of my laptop.

I knew it was the season for it but there had been a hell of a lot of them around this year. They were getting everywhere.

I’d always been a bit of a swatter in days gone by but I found I was reluctant to crush the life out of this particular insect. It wasn’t completely black. Whitish specks freckled its wings like flakes of ash.

‘What are you then?’ I asked it. It spread its wings in response, inviting me to admire its swirls and shimmers. I smiled and, for want of anything better to do, entered ‘moths’ into an image search. On the third page I scrolled through I spotted a similar pair of wings. One click brought me through to the article, which the image illustrated.

‘The Peppered Moth: UK moth transforms from black to white as pollution decreases.’ The report went on to state that although these moths started off white, during the industrial revolution they turned black to match their environment. Now it seemed they were halfway through the process of returning to their original colour. A moth expert commented, ‘It’s the iconic moth. This is the one everyone learns about in school because it perfectly illustrates natural selection.’

‘Darwin would be proud,’ I told its little wings and clicked through to a site flagged up by a banner ad – Animal Totems. The page on the screen was black. At the top was an animated banner, which read Today’s Shamanic Blessing. Underneath ran the phrase, When walking in the woods never leave tracks. I took it on board with a nod and silently promised not to. Then I came to the title Moth Totem.

The moth apparently had a similar animal symbolism to the butterfly. No shit Sherlock. But it was also a nocturnal creature. ‘Night creatures,’ it read, ‘do not stumble in the dark. The moth navigates easily, led by lunar light.’

The symbolism, in turn, connected to intuition, spiritual awareness and heightened senses. ‘The moth is a master of disguise and can blend in to the point of invisibility. He aids metamorphosis, representing birth, death and rebirth. He is also a guide helping you towards your own light or beacon, and in the direction you are meant to go.’

‘You’re a clever boy aren’t you?’ I put my elbows on the table and sat forwards. My eyes were on a level with its body. ‘I feel like I’m in the dark right now. You going to show me where to go?’

It remained still.

‘Go on,’ I said. ‘I could do with some help.’

It didn’t move.

‘Sod you then.’ I brushed it away. It flew up at a forty-five-degree angle, inelegant and off balance, then fell on the carpet in front of the fireplace. I must have damaged its wings, I thought and felt absurdly guilty.

Getting up from behind the computer I walked over. It took off, veered off to the left than arced up onto the map I had fixed on the chimneybreast.

‘Sorry about that,’ I told him. It was off again, circling my head once, then landed back in the same place.

I looked at the map. Not Essex. Mr Moth had settled himself thirty or so miles south-west of London.

‘You want me to go there do you?’ I asked it. ‘What’s there?’

He didn’t answer, so I slipped a sheet of white paper behind it and a glass over the top. He didn’t resist and appeared happy to fly off into the night through my window.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dan plopped down opposite me in the new hospital, just outside of Basildon. He was pretty doped-up but physically more like the old Dan I knew and loved. His brown hair was giving up the battle against encroaching silver and he’d lost a bit of weight. His familiar t-shirt and favourite Levis seemed to be wearing him, as he sat, caved into the saggy armchair.

I wasn’t sure how much he knew about Mum. I hadn’t wanted to broach it last night. But it turned out that he had worked it all out in his hidey-hole. We were in a small common room with a dozen chairs and a TV turned to a low continuous mumble.

Dan shook his head then said, ‘It was too soon.’

I knew what he meant. I got it. We weren’t ready for Mum to go.

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