The Mystery Of Markellos Tower.

T HE                               M Y S T E R Y                  O F                    M A R K E L L OS


                                                                         T O W E R .
                                                                           

                                                    C H A P T E R                              O N E .



The moon, after hiding behind the clouds for three nights, emerged triumphantly as it shone down on the picture perfect English village.

After three days and three nights of almost non-stop snowfall, the moon gave the appearance of being happy to be part of the scene, and , in particular, to provide a spotlight on such beauty.

The whiteness penetrated into everything; it proudly wrote its signature on all there was to see.

What a wondrous sight it was for the young man who was walking through the thickly covered, snow saturated lane.

The trees each side of him were, it seemed to him, groaning under the weight of so much snow. The lampposts illuminated the scene making the white world twinkle and dance under their  approving gaze.

There were, thank goodness, no cars as it would have been impossible for any  two or four wheeled vehicles to pass through such piled up carpets and blankets of snow.

The young man smiled to himself.

He had arrived.

Before he entered the Inn- as that was his destination- he stamped his boots and his gloved hands wiped the encrusted snow off them.

His heavy brown coat was coloured, virgin white, as the last fall of snow had been about half an hour ago, before, suddenly, the clouds had dispersed after days of relentless snowstorms. He  brushed the white flakes off.

He looked up at the sign above the door that also had white flakes over it.The name of the Inn was,' 33.3'.
An extremely strange name for an English pub. Weren't they normally called, ' The Dog And Duck,' or ,' The Swan', or ' The Harrow ' ?

But, as he reflected later, at the time it hadn't struck him as odd, which, of course, was odd in itself.

His research, or was it his instincts had told him that this was the place he had to enter.

Here, if would, , if he was right, be given the first clue he needed.

He vigorously wiped his boots on the mat that lat outside the large oak door.  He then scrapped his boots on the mat in a bid to get rid of any residue of the stubborn snow. He was pleased to see that he managed to get rid of quite a lot of the white stuff.

He then opened the large oak door..

Little did he know that his life would never, ever, be the same again.

Chapter Two to follow shortly.
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