This is not a post about inhabitants of the spirit world who have an inexplicable hatred of element number 6 in the Periodic Table, but rather, it is based on a conversation I had with a strange man from Warminster I met last week.
He was an elderly fellow, just about turned 70 give or take, but his hair was only lightly streaked with grey and his face relatively young looking, but he walked with a stick and his eyes were such a pale blue I thought initially he had cataracts.
Anyway, we were sat waiting in the Betjeman at St Pancras station, and talk turned to his Wiltshire hometown. Warminster has long been famous as a strange sort of place, and in 1964-1965 had been the home of the Warminster "Thing" - a bizarre series of UFO sightings and strange happenings - men in balaclavas wandering country roads late at night, that sort of thing. Anyway he told me of what was really going on, as we both drank JD and cokes while waiting for a delayed Brighton train.
It wasn't Aliens. It was far stranger than that.
Apparently, Warminster is historically located around various nexuses (nexi?) of ley lines. This old guy - a former maths professor - believed rather than being rooted in organic hippy dippy lore, the ley lines are dimensional rifts, less than a quark in width, that are so narrow they don't normally affect our space time.
However, at Warminster, at a hub where several of these rifts intersected, there is a larger interdimensional intersect, where matter from dimensions 8 and 11 is able to find its way into our universe. The stuff from the 8th Dimension is an irrelevant mess of random open superstrings that don't correspond to any of our standard theory particles, and thus don't interact a whole lot of bugger all with anything.
But the 11th dimensional matter is different (He explained to me over another drink) - it's anti matter carbon, atomic number -6, valency 4(1+i). To put it simply, as he was eventually able to after a fifth drink as rain shorted out the rails, it's ghost carbon. Reverse carbon. Graphite hard as diamond, diamond you could write with.
A carbon that in our world has negative mass, yet thanks to the positron complex root 1 valency, it can actually covalent bond with our hydrogen. And its low energy state means it can substitute out native carbon atoms from the organic chemicals found in such things as...living matter.
This was a lot to take in. He himself didn't believe it until he saw the effects on night in Warminster in 1965, where a farmer, his two sons and flock of sheep suddenly glowed black, and vanished from the field in which they were working. Three days later they re-appeared, the sheep unshorn, and the farmer wild with tales of "some other place" he had visited that he could not describe, but was wonderful.
He was sedated and locked in a padded cell, from which he disappeared three weeks later, this time permanently. 167 pupils and 9 teachers were sucked out of a Warminster primary school the next month, and neer seen again apart from eerie imprints certain short sighted people could see, ghosts on the landscape, apparently smiling, but as insubstantial as the wind.
And it wasn't just organic forms disappearing from our world. We had visitors from the 11th dimension too, velvet soft trees you couldn't see, but you could bump into, and climb, before their trunks swept back into the dimensional rift from which they came.
Clouds came too, from worlds as indescribable as love, and it was these, sailing high in the sky, inverse-gravity lensing their background, that were mistaken for UFOs. And it were MOD spooks, confused but excited by the goings on, that were running around on Norton motorcycles in black in the middle of the night, chasing the shadow people that had fallen foul of the leaking ghost-carbon as they flitted between states of being no one had ever been able to comprehend.
And as he told me this, the fellow's eyes twinkled, and I wondered if he had been one of the chasers, or one of those sprites that could flit between our world and the eleventh. And as I looked into those odd eyes of his, I barely noticed his hand pass straight through his own glass, before it picked mine up. And then as his hand reformed, it seemed, that glass of his shattered, and began to bleed pure molten silicon while his own flesh was whitely untouched.
And then, after draining my drink, he winked and left the bar, heading in entirely the opposite direction from where the Brighton train was shceduled to leave, if indeed it ever arrived.
Copyright Bloody Mulberry 17/08/13
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