Sorry, but the show's over, folks. Some of you may be aware that, unfortunately, our blogsite has been plagued with technical problems for quite some time now. Could it be that perhaps the spooks that haunt our internet objected to being discussed? We were forced to shut down this site for major repairs back in August and after we were given the go ahead again, we started it back up for a few months only to find more difficulties lying in wait. With frustrations galore standing in our way, we've made the sad decision to close permanently. We're disappointed to be going, but sadder by far to wave farewell to our lovely authors who've been the highlight of our time editing the submissions. Since Dorothy Davies kicked off the blog back in November 2010 with her wonderful story, "Forever England," we feel it's a just and fitting finale for Spook City that we end with one of hers as well. Please sit back and enjoy, "The Tourist." Bye bye, everyone.

"THE TOURIST" - Dorothy Davies

He was just like any other mark, you know? Scruffy sort of guy, tweed jacket, slacks with not much of a crease, bit of a stubble thing going on. Balding a bit but who isn’t? Big nose, I remember the big nose. Washed out sort of eyes, not much colour there. Looked like he hadn’t got two pound coins to rub together, if I were truthful with you.

           

He gets in the cab at Liverpool Street Station, wants a trip round London.

           

OK, I says, let’s go! Where do you wanna start, sir?

           

He says, that thing near the river, that tall thing you see from the sky.

           

I says, do you mean the Monument?

           

He says, I do that.

           

So we goes to the Monument. I sits in the cab while he climbs the 300 odd steps to the top, I sees him go round the viewing platform, I wait while he climbs back down the 300 odd steps and I think, rather him than me. I’d rather sit here in comfort, off me feet, watching the meter tick on. This is the good one; I remember thinking, the rare good one. The one we all talk about getting and few of us do. Go round London seeing all the sights. Usually from the windows, mind you, this one was different, getting out to see places, leaving the meter running.

           

Oh be sure I kept the meter running. I might have had Princess Diana in my cab and I would have kept the meter running. Fat chance of that, before or now. Oh but I loved that woman...

Enough! Just gotta say no one would have made me drive that fast and kill the one true beauty who walked our planet. Oh hell, here I go again...

           

Forget it. Let’s get back to the weird one.

           

I’ve been driving a cab in London all my working life, me. Love it, I do, all the people, the sights you see out the window along the streets, them’s as wanna talk to you about London and all it has to offer, them as hates it, only here on business or ‘cos they gotta be.

Not this mark, though, he was - different.

           

He wanted the Tower next, so we went to the Tower. And I sat outside and waited while he did the tour round, seeing those – what do you call them, the ones in the outfits? Can’t remember. Anyway, he went there.

He wanted the London Eye after that, wanted to see, what was that strange new building called? Can’t remember. Well, we went there.

He wanted Buckingham Palace, wanted to see the – damn it, where’s my memory gone! The men in red outfits and tall hats? Well, we went there.

           

And we went on like that. All day we went round and round London and all day ... I just realised ... my memory got worse and worse till I could hardly remember how to get from one place to the other. Like I was in a fog, you know?

           

And come to think on it, he got –

           

Smarter and smarter as the day went on, clothes got better, he got more hair, he got less beard. His eyes got more colour. And I got – older.

And I forgot things. It was like – he was some kind of vampire and he was draining me of all my knowledge.

           

Next thing I know he’s driving the cab and I’m in the back, watching the world go by, wondering where the hell I am.

           

We went back to the Monument and I got out and he drove off. I opened the door and climbed up the 300 odd steps to the top and when I got there, I thought, how odd, he said ‘the thing you can see from the sky.’ How did he see it from the sky, I asked myself. And I asked myself who he was to drain me like that.

And I found myself on the viewing platform of the Monument and everyone who came up walked right through me and I knew I wasn’t human any more.

Then I realised he wasn’t human either or he wouldn’t have been able to take over like that and put me in the back of my own cab and then drive off in it and I’m lost, lost, lost and only you’ve seen me in the last ten years.

I’m right bored with the view, but that ain’t the real problem.

It gets damn lonely up here, I can tell you.

BIO: Dorothy Davies is a writer, editor and medium, who lives on the Isle of Wight (Isle of Spirits) where she writes her strange stories and channels books directly from spirit authors.

(So long, so long and thanks for all the fish.
Col, Trev, Mark and Gaz.
- Spook City)